just want to be pretty for you

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/47118796.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Fandom: KinnPorsche: The Series (TV)
Relationship: Pete Phongsakorn Saengtham/Vegas Kornwit Theerapanyakun
Characters: Pete Phongsakorn Saengtham, Vegas Kornwit Theerapanyakun
Additional Tags: gender bullshit, Oblivious Pete Phongsakorn Saengtham, Pete
Phongsakorn Saengtham is pretty, Possessive Vegas Kornwit
Theerapanyakun, Vegas Kornwit Theerapanyakun Likes Butts, Ass-
eating, Explicit Sexual Content, Pete Phongsakorn Saengtham Wears a
Skirt, (eventually) - Freeform, Soft Pete Phongsakorn Saengtham/Vegas
Kornwit Theerapanyakun, but also mentally unstable pete phonsakorn
saengtham/ vegas kornwit theerapanyakun, y'all know how it is... it's
them, This is gonna be nasty, Master/Pet, BDSM, Some pet play, Other
Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Series: Part 1 of Pete's Lessons in Being a Certified Pretty Boy
Stats: Published: 2023-05-12 Completed: 2023-06-12 Words: 54,377 Chapters:
12/12
 just want to be pretty for you
by prangprang

Summary

if Pete had been keeping something from him, it wasn’t from distrust or fear. It was because
Pete must be entirely oblivious to it himself.

Sweet, perceptive Pete, who always saw the pain in others—could analyze even the most
minute of reactions and knew when to push, when to pull, knew when to laugh for them, cry
with them, putting everyone else first, an emotional punching bag—couldn’t begin to see his
own problems.

Pete had opened himself to Vegas, sheltered him in the warmth of his arms, his heart, his
body. He had stood by him through the worst of his own recovery, the worst of his rages.

It was time for Vegas to return the favor.

Notes

Look y'all. There was no fic that could perfectly scratch the absolute itch that was Vegas
eating Pete's ass in a skirt. One of my favorite clips from the special episodes of KinnPorsche
was something Tong said about how the show had so much representation of different
expressions of gender. I leaned hard into that.

I'm going to warn y'all up front: later chapters will be pure filth. But gender non-conforming
filth. Pete will not be trans, but will say fuck gender and there will be a lot of gender play in
explicit sex.

I was originally writing this for me, but thought I would share. If people seem to like it I'll
keep posting. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
 Chapter 1

If he was being honest with himself, which unfortunately, he had learned from his therapist
was “essential on his path to self-actualization and happiness” Vegas was ashamed it had
taken him so long to realize there was something…off. Pete could read his own moods better
than he could—seemed to already know what to offer before Vegas had even realized what he
was feeling. Yet, he had failed to return the favor.

At first, he noticed a nagging feeling eating away at the back of his mind but couldn’t quite
place where it was coming from. What was causing the tenseness in his shoulders; the hair at
his nape to stand up? He brushed it off initially as growing pains. His life had been upended
after all. Between nearly dying and suddenly finding he had been dethroned as heir to the
minor family, between settling into their new home, their new relationship, confronting the
demons of his past to protect his future, his new role as some type of shadow behind Porsche,
doing all the dirty work while receiving none of the credit, it was easy to chalk up discomfort
to …well any number of things really.

But when one day, innocuously, the scattered pieces suddenly clicked into place full force, he
realized there was something wrong with Pete.

His initial response was anger. No, that wasn’t right. He had learned not every bad feeling
was or should be anger. His initial response was more accurately pure fear. The core
foundation of their relationship, since the moment they had stripped down to their souls in the
safehouse, bared every nasty inch of depravity and hurt, cradled each other’s broken insides
and licked one another’s wounds, had been that they would always be honest with one
another. When they walked through the doors of their bedroom each day, their souls would be
laid bare for the other to explore. The worst pieces of themselves, the best pieces of
themselves, and everything in between, given over to the other entirely for safe keeping.
They were each other’s to rip apart and piece back together.

If Pete was keeping something hidden away from him, what did it mean? Was it that Pete
didn’t fully trust him? Was this hidden something so haunting Pete feared revealing it to him?
Had Pete changed his mind about them? What did it mean for something to exist between
them? Would this chasm grow wider and wider?

But when Vegas laid awake at night, agonizing over the possibility that Pete would no longer
flay himself open and welcome Vegas into every corner of his heart; he realized that couldn’t
be what was happening. As Vegas counted each eyelash as Pete slept, trying to back himself
away from the edge of a panic attack, Pete had snuffled and rolled toward him, seeking him
out even as he slept. His legs shifted, a knee bumping and pushing between Vegas’s, and
Pete’s face tucked forward, his arms wrapping tightly around one of Vegas’s as his sweet,
sleepy mouth parted on a snore, drool sliding against Vegas’s collarbone. He had nuzzled into
Vegas, bodies aligned and molding into one, and slept soundly.

Pete trusted him enough to sleep deeply. Pete, a trained, lethal, dangerous weapon, trusted
that he could turn off and rest in Vegas’s arms. He felt safe. And beyond that, Pete sought him
out in his sleep, not wanting to be apart even when he wasn’t conscious.

And he trusted Vegas enough to sleep, mouth open, drooling against him. How absolutely
adorable.

Vegas had inhaled deeply through his nose, tucked his face forward into Pete’s soft, silky hair
and pushed down the urge to force Pete onto his back then and there, drive into Pete’s
sleeping like he was coming home—like there was no other place for him to be than inside
Pete.

In Vegas's opinion, there really was no other place to be. Pete was his safe zone; his
everything. But now wasn’t the time to focus on his own wants. He needed to unravel
whatever was happening with Pete.

No,if Pete had been keeping something from him, it wasn’t from distrust or fear. It was
because Pete must be entirely oblivious to it himself.

Sweet, perceptive Pete, who always saw the pain in others—could analyze even the most
minute of reactions and knew when to push, when to pull, knew when to laugh for them, cry
with them, putting everyone else first, an emotional punching bag—couldn’t begin to see his
own problems.

Pete had opened himself to Vegas, sheltered him in the warmth of his arms, his heart, his
body. He had stood by him through the worst of his own recovery, the worst of his rages.
It was time for Vegas to return the favor.

The next day found Vegas seated at his desk, staring blankly at a notebook in front of him. He
didn’t trust to type this on the computer, who knew what kind of key stroke tracker might be
installed. Perhaps it was a paranoid thought, but he would much rather be able to write
organize his thoughts on paper then burn it after. He didn’t trust anyone else with his sweet
little pet’s pain. A lot had been taken from him, but Pete’s pain would always be his to enjoy
and to mend.

He began by piecing together the story of little details that had finally compounded together
to his realization.

He made a heading, underlined it, and began to list in bullet points below what he had
noticed.

Pete won’t pick clothes for himself

At first it was easy not to notice, a few good months after they had gotten together Vegas had
either been in the hospital or recovering at home. Pete was always by his side, refusing to
leave even for his own basic needs. Pete had very obviously been afraid that if he left for a
moment Vegas would spontaneously flatline, not entirely out of the realm of possibility, but
still concerning in the obsession it seemed to have instilled. Vegas had wanted to comfort him
and rationally knew it was unhealthy, but between the haze of pain killers and his own deep
fear that Pete would walk out and never come back, he had admittedly been a bit obsessive
himself. He had even gone as far as forcing Pete to wheel him into the bathroom to watch
him while he showered. “So you can see I’m not going anywhere” Vegas had claimed,
grinning at Pete as he had stretched back in his wheelchair, eyes never once straying as they
followed the soap trails along Pete’s skin. It had been adorable if Vegas was perfectly honest
with himself. He didn’t like to admit it, but those desperate eyes staring at him with
unrestrained devotion had soothed a piercing agony within him. It wasn’t his fault. His pet
was hungry the poor little thing. He had been a stray for so long, no owner to feed and guide
and absolutely spoil him. Vegas couldn’t have possibly disappointed his pet, not when he
needed him so much. Not when he needed the reassurance he was owned.

It had made sense at the time that Pete only dressed in whatever clothes were in Vegas’s own
closet. He never left Vegas’s side, and Vegas was certainly not complaining about seeing his
sweet pet dressed in fine silks instead of those awful, lifeless, bags the main family insisted
all their bodyguards wore. Let it be known the fact that Porsche got a suit tailored to his
waist did not slip past him. After seeing Pete’s slim waist hugged by high waisted pants,
tighter on his ass than it was on Vegas’s own, he hoped Kinn suffered in his next life for the
cosmic injustice he had done hiding Pete’s body all those years. The mouth-watering
deliciousness that was that juicy, round butt in pants tailored to fit Vegas’s much trimmer
figure was enough to distract from the way those same pants were a few centimeters
comically too short for those long, divine legs. Was it weird that Vegas found even that sexy?
He would bite into those ankles any day. Please and thank you.

After a few months, when the last of the unpacking had been done in their new home and
Vegas was much farther along in his recovery, he had paused in the middle of picking out an
outfit for the day in the closet. Pete had been lounging on the velvet chaise in the massive
walk-in while he waited, pha khao ma draped loosely around his hips. Vegas took slow
inventory of the closet, and realized that apart from a black turtleneck, a few bland shirts, and
some pants, everything in the closet was his own.

“Pete… where are your clothes?”

Pete’s eyes flicked up to him from where he had been tapping away furiously on his new
phone, enjoying for the first time in his life unlimited access to inane phone games, and
blinked thrice in a row before frowning and jerking his head toward the few sad pieces of
clothing wedged between Vegas’s velvets and silk sections.

“Right there, did you want me to wear one of those today?”

Vegas’s brain had short-circuited. How had he not noticed that was all Pete had in the closet?
Since they had come home, Vegas had been personally picking every outfit Pete had worn.
They had been slowly exploring their dynamic, navigating their desires and attempting to
find the safe boundary between the ownership they both craved and whatever that had been
in the safehouse. It had been difficult, but one of the things that had become routine early on
was for Vegas to choose outfits for Pete. He would sprawl back on the chaise in the walk-in
closet and demand Pete to dress slowly, watching as his favorite toy was hidden away from
the rest of the world in his own clothes, only his to unwrap later like a delicious treat.
Admittedly, Vegas had been so turned on by the practice that he had been working his way
through his own wardrobe, and with the amount of clothes he owned it had taken him quite a
while to notice.

“How is that all you have?” Vegas had spoken without thinking in his incredulity, wincing at
himself immediately after. He knew Pete had very little money, even with his salary as head
bodyguard, as most of it went home to home to his beloved yaai.

Pete had simply shrugged, nonplussed, and gone back to frantically tapping away at his game
as he spoke, “I had a uniform, so I didn’t see much point in buying clothes. I didn’t take days
off usually, or go out when I did have a day off, so I never really needed them. I have my pha
khao ma to wear at home.”

Vegas had frowned at that, running his fingers across the plain blue shirt hanging amongst
Pete’s clothes. It was so simple, unassuming, like the black turtleneck, but quite different
from the white and black shirts beside it. All of them were deplorably boxy but at least the
white and black shirts had some type of…pattern. Which style did Pete prefer? Admittedly,
Vegas hated both. It was a crime to hide his favorite toy in such bland, ugly clothing. But he
wanted Pete to be comfortable; he wouldn’t force him to dress just for Vegas’s own desires.
Not all the time at least.

“We can go get you more now. As much as I like you wearing my clothes, pet, I know you’re
probably more comfortable in your own style. What do you prefer to wear out of these? I can
recommend a shop with something similar.”

Pete had cursed as a tinny, animated sound rang from the phone, tossing it down after he
presumably lost whatever game he was playing. He leaned back on his hands to look \ over at
Vegas, tilting his head in a way that had Vegas wanting to sink his teeth into the expanse of
neck it revealed. Pete pursed his lips for a moment, brow furrowed as he studied the clothes,
then shook his head.

“None of them. The blue shirt was another bodyguard’s. He outgrew it, and it felt like a waste
for it to be thrown away. Arm and Pol gave me the others for going out. The turtleneck is
mine… but…I just picked it because I could wear it with my uniform.
Vegas had faltered, unsure of how to respond. It wasn’t a surprise, not really, what Pete had
said, but something about it had his stomach twisting an uncomfortable knot.

“What would you like to wear then?”

Pete had wrinkled his nose as if the question was ridiculous before shrugging his shoulders.
“Whatever you like.”

Vegas’s brain had stopped work at that point. Even he could recognize the insanity of that
response. Apparently, Pete hadn’t picked his own clothes for years, and when finally
presented with the opportunity he just… wanted Vegas to choose for him? Despite his
recognition that the response was remarkably unhealthy, Vegas had to swallow and try to will
himself not to get hard at the thought of all the possibilities that Pete had just presented him
with. Now was not the time to take advantage of Pete, not when what they were trying so
hard to build a healthy life together.

“Pete… “Vegas found himself tongue tied, something that had never happened to him before
but had become increasingly common around Pete. Vegas was unsure of what to make of the
situation. Pete’s eyebrows raised, and the ghost of the awful smile he showed to the outside
world flickered at the corner of his lips.

“Ah! I’m sorry I didn’t think. It’s probably annoying to have to share so much. We can go
shopping for some for me. You can choose whatever you’d like. I’m not picky. This style
suits you much better than it suits me anyway. Everyone probably thinks I look ridiculous
copying you.” Pete had laughed, high and reedy, his eyelids curving as the awful smile took
over his face.

Vegas had tried to control his impulses, he really did, but before he could stop himself, he had
yanked a black velvet shirt from its hanger and stalked over to Pete, determined to show him
just how delectable he thought Pete looked in his clothes.

Vegas had dropped it for a while after that. Afraid that he had pressed too hard on a sensitive
spot of Pete’s he become quite familiar with. His hungry pet, so needy and vocal about his
desires, was surprisingly insecure. While Pete had no shame in mouthing at Vegas’s cock
beneath his desk, begging to warm him while Vegas worked, had no shame about the
skeleton crew of bodyguards in their home witnessing him ass up on the kitchen island, a five
star meal all for Vegas, he often turned his face from mirrors. It seemed like he couldn’t
stand to look at himself, and the one-time Vegas had tried to make Pete kneel in front of the
full-length mirror in their room as he fucked him from behind, Pete had pressed his face into
the floor. When Vegas had fisted a hand in his hair to force him to look, Vegas hips had
stuttered to a stop at the sight of tears threatening to fall over that beautiful lash line. Pete
never cried when they fucked; he took everything with that secret, unhinged, true smile that
was all for Vegas.

It truly made no sense to Vegas, but he realized it was another important piece to the puzzle.

Pete truly had a talent for making the most bizarre of things turn Vegas on. Vegas would have
been concerned about it, but he found he enjoyed the endless stream of pleasure that Pete
seemed to inspire in him. When he had walked into their shared bedroom one day to be
greeted with the sight of Pete, naked from the waist down, covered in chalk dust, and doing a
weird combination of shadow boxing and flexing, Vegas learned it was possible to laugh and
be hard enough to cut diamonds all at once. Vegas had never known that sexual desire could
intertwine with such levity, but he had eagerly knelt behind Pete, slapping his own hand over
a chalk handprint, and watching with satisfaction as that perfect, round bubble-butt jiggled,
chalk dust flying into the air around them. He had come away from the encounter, his own
face smudged with chalk as he licked his lips, satisfied, and with a new favorite past time:
watching Pete work out.

He so enjoyed it, that it wasn’t until he reflected on it now at his desk that he realized he had
never noticed something crucial. Pete didn’t flex in front of a mirror.

Pete doesn’t like to see himself

Vegas added it to his list, pencil tapping idly beside it in agitation, before moving on to the
next point. He had to keep going, couldn’t afford to get wrapped up in his thoughts. He
needed to get to the bottom of this.

Pete’s hair?
Vegas frowned, unsure of exactly how to phrase what he had noticed. Pete’s hair previously
had been the same for a long time, the only change Vegas had ever noticed was the fact that
Pete would part his bangs down the middle when going out. But in the past few months it had
gotten longer, shaggier. Vegas couldn’t say much himself. During recovery his priority
definitely had not been on trimming his own hair, and it had grown out a fair bit as well. He
also had to admit he enjoyed Pete’s longer hair. It made for a much better grip when Vegas
wanted to thread his fingers through the thick strands and yank Pete’s head around. Not to
mention that added leverage and flexibility it gave him when he wanted to guide Pete’s head
up and down on his cock, setting a pace that Pete would have no choice but to follow.

It wasn’t until Vegas had gotten fed up with his hair in his own eyes while he cooked that he
called his personal hair stylist over for an immediate cut that he had even considered Pete
might want one as well.

Pete had merely looked up from the files Porsche had given him to review when Vegas
offered and given a half-hearted shrug.

“If you want me to.”

The words had been murmured so quietly, with such resignation that Vegas had found every
muscle in his body tensing immediately. The snip snip of the scissors in his hair stylists hand
stopped abruptly, and for a moment Vegas felt as though the air had been sucked from the
room as he peered through the long curtain of Pete’s bangs and into his eyes.

He let the moment stretch on, gaze never breaking, before he spoke. Softly, as though Pete
were every bit the stray animal Vegas had taken in.

“What do you want, pet?”

For a split moment, Vegas saw a tremble in the corner of Pete’s perfect lips. Pete didn’t
answer. Didn’t move otherwise. Vegas couldn’t even be sure that Pete was actually breathing.
But then his eyes zeroed in on the rapid but shallow rise and fall of Pete’s chest. Fight or
flight. Those desperate eyes never left his own, and the bare instincts of his hind brain
recognized the look for what it was.
Choose for me. I want to be good. I want to be kept. I don’t know what to do.

His poor puppy. So lost, so in need of direction he had given himself over--been loyal to a
family that had beaten and used him. A caged beast whose beauty was wasted in the hands of
those who couldn’t appreciate him, couldn’t give him what he needed,

“Come here.” Vegas spoke loudly, sternly. The hair stylist still had not moved, eyes cast
down to give the illusion of privacy and scissors still immobile in the air. Pete had scrambled
up, reports pushed aside, and crossed the room before Vegas had even blinked. Pete’s hands
instantly went behind his back, like the good boy he was. Vegas never wanted them in front
again, in that awful stance. There would be no more hiding; when Pete stood at attention
everything would be on display for Vegas.

“Sit.”

And Pete had dropped to his knees so hard that Vegas almost flinched from the smack of
bone on marble. Instead, Vegas had reached out to grip Pete’s cheeks between his fingers,
squishing his face tightly and dragging Pete’s head back and forth. Pete’s gaze never left him,
unwavering eyes full of unrestrained devotion.

“Settle, puppy.. I’m going to ask you simple questions. You’re going to answer honestly.
What do good pets get when they listen?”

Pete’s lips parted on an exhale, the tension melting out of his body as he willingly gave over
control. His eyelashes fluttered and Vegas felt his chest tighten in sheer adoration.

“Good pets get rewards.”

Vegas dug his fingers tightly into the hinge of Pete’s jaw, “is that how good pets speak?”

The muscles beneath Vegas’s fingers flexed, that beautiful, true smile of Pete’s stretching
across his face. “No, Khun Vegas. I’m sorry, Khun Vegas.”
The knot that been tight in Vegas’s chest loosened at the sheer peace in Pete’s eyes. He was
giving Pete what he needed, he was doing good for his pet. Vegas honestly didn’t enjoy when
Pete called him Khun. It felt too much like the before when Pete wasn’t his. But they hadn’t
decided on anything better yet, and Vegas knew Pete needed it to settle.

“When was the last time you had a haircut, puppy?”

“When I returned to the main family, Khun Vegas.”

Vegas didn’t need more specification than that.

“Who cut your hair, puppy?”

“The auntie assigned to maintain our appearances.”

“Did you like her haircuts?”

“No, Khun Vegas,”’

Vegas ran his thumb slowly across Pete’s jawbone as his brows furrowed.

“Then why get her to cut your hair? What did she do you didn’t like?”

Pete’s smile had dropped, and he swallowed, his eyes dropping from Vegas’s face to the floor.
A silence stretched between them for a moment, and Vegas dug his fingernails into Pete’s
skin in silent warning.
“I don’t know, Khun Vegas. We were told to be presentable for the family. I told her to do
what she wanted to make me presentable. She cut my hair the same way since I joined.”

Vegas’s fingers had loosened quickly, and the knot in his chest was back. What the fuck?
Pete’s haircut before hadn’t been the most stylish—a little goofy and annoying in the way it
obscured the absolute beauty of Pete’s face, but Vegas had thought Pete had actually liked the
haircut.

Vegas had wanted to ask why Pete never asked for anything else if he didn’t like it, but Pete’s
eyes stayed low to the ground, shoulders drawing tight again. Vegas had gripped his hair by
the roots and yanked his head back, twisting Pete’s head from side to side. He was missing
something, but Pete needed him. He had seemed reluctant to cut his hair, to make a choice, so
Vegas chose carefully, barking an order at the stylist who had remained statue still and silent.

“Do something so it’s not in face, but don’t take the length off. I want something that shows
off how pretty he is.”

Pete had rolled his lip between his teeth, eyes darting from Vegas’s to the floor as he tucked
his head down. That wouldn’t do. Vegas yanked hard on the grip he still had in Pete’s hair
until Pete’s eyes met his.

“Pretty boy, look at you, so good answering my questions. Now be good and wait. Sit still for
a haircut and when we’re done we’ll see if you earned treats hmm?”

Pete nodded desperately, pushing his face forward to press into Vegas’s knee, eyes not
wavering again.

“Khun… you said a reward for questions…”

Vegas smirked, the knot in his chest loosening up again at the playfully imploring tone. He
nodded at the stylist who resumed cutting his hair and let his hand pet down the back of
Pete’s neck, thumb pressing roughly into the sensitive muscle where neck met shoulder.
“That’s right puppy, you deserve lots of treats and rewards don’t you… “

Vegas had stretched his leg out, pushing it between Pete’s warm thighs, delighted to feel a
tremble in the muscles.

“Take your reward, puppy. Don’t waste time. As soon as my hair is done, I expect you to be
ready to sit still.”

Pete had looked up at him with unbridled devotion, free to just exist with Vegas without
having to hide.

He had gotten his reward in the end, humping enthusiastically at Vegas’s leg, panting and
pressing his face into Vegas’s thigh until he came with a keening whine. Vegas had simply
petted at him, then bodily dragged his puppy into the chair when it was his turn. The orgasm
had been good for Pete, he had been pliant as his hair was cut, dazed and pleased despite his
cum soiled pants.

When the stylist was done, Pete didn’t even look toward the mirror to check. His eyes stayed
trained on Vegas’s face, the fog of pleasure lifting as he searched for a reaction.

He was beautiful. His hair had been parted down the middle, framed by long shaggy fringe
and artfully mussed strands. His hair was long enough to skim his shoulders in the certain
places, and his face was unobscured, each framing piece only serving to draw attention to that
beautiful bone structure, that perfect button nose, that bitable mouth. He looked more like
the Pete Vegas knew, wild in his beauty; instead of restrained and hidden by that atrocity he
had worn before. This was so much better. This was Vegas’s Pete.

Vegas twisted Pete’s face side to side, then nodded at the stylist in dismissal. When the door
swung shut, he had leaned forward, running his nose slowly along Pete’s and smiling warmly.

“Beautiful boy… what a beautiful boy I have.”

Pete had swallowed audibly, irises wavering as they searched Vegas’s face. That feeling
resurfaced, the feeling of something not quite right. But Vegas surged forward, focused on
showing Pete just how pretty he thought he looked.

But as he reflected on the moment, Vegas realized just how off the situation was. What
exactly was it? Why was Pete so reluctant to make choices about his hair and his clothes?
What made him so uncomfortable? What made him so insecure he couldn’t look into
mirrors?

The last revelation Vegas had come to wasn’t one that prompted all the other pieces to click
into place. Instead, this one had thrown Vegas off the most.

Pete has no body hair?

When Pete had been tied to that pole—when Vegas had run his fingers all along Pete’s body,
pushing his boxers down, down, down to expose him for the car battery, he had been
pleasantly surprised to find Pete was hairless.

As they spent time together in the safehouse, Vegas realized it wasn’t just that Pete lacked
any pubic hair, but that his legs, his armpits, every part of his body was deliciously smooth.
When Vegas thought back, he realized no stubble had ever grown back in its place. Vegas had
shaved Pete’s face himself, but even there the hair had been sparse, almost….patchy.

Even now, during the months of recovery and adjustment, Vegas never saw hair grow
anywhere on Pete’s body. He had shaved Pete’s face again and again, but that hair still
seemed to grow slowly and unevenly. Vegas used his own shaving kit on Pete’s face, and
when he looked, he found no razor in the bathroom that could belong to Pete. He hadn’t
expected to find one when he looked, Pete’s skin was far to smooth, never showing any sign
of hair growth that normally was visible even with a close shave, but that only served to
confuse Vegas more.

He finally asked about it one day as they shared a bath, his hand playing idly with the smooth
skin of Pete’s balls. It hadn’t necessarily been sexual, he just liked to feel Pete, to tease along
his skin and be close. But as he caressed the silky, tender skin—it finally occurred to him to
ask why it was always bared to him.
“Oh…it’s been lasered.”

Vegas swore he felt his heart stop and restart.

“It’s been what?”

Pete had shrugged; his head resting against Vegas’s shoulder. His eyes were closed and after a
moment of silence stretched between them, he turned his face away, rouge coloring the tips of
his ears.

“I don’t know… it was just something I did. I was in the process of lasering my face
when…”

He had trailed off, all hell broke loose, remaining unsaid between them. After a few moments
he continued, words suddenly rushing out.

“It’s just easier, you know? I don’t have to waste time shaving that way. There’s less
vulnerability, less grip, when you fight someone. It’s not a big deal. It’s just-It’s stupid.”

Pete had begun to sit up, eyes opening and looking everywhere but Vegas. He laughed then,
high and uneven, as though he was laughing at himself, and Vegas had seen it as the ploy that
it was. I’m a clueless idiot; don’t mind me! I don’t know anything.

Vegas had his hand around the back of Pete’s neck before he had even registered the
movement, digging his fingers in and yanking Pete back to rest against him once more. The
smile dropped from Pete’s face and he had stilled, looking toward the end of the tub where
Vegas had hooked one leg between Pete’s to both pin him and push his legs apart.

Vegas had tapped his fingers along Pete’s carotid artery as he weighed Pete’s response in his
head; taking note of how fast the skin beneath his fingers pulsed. He finally hummed, his
other hand running idly up from Pete’s balls to cup his soft cock, playing with it with mock
disinterest.

While Pete was a bit taller than Vegas, with legs that went for miles, his cock was small and
beautiful. Not necessarily extremely disproportionate, but far smaller than Vegas’s own. As
with all things about Pete, Vegas had found he was obsessed with his cock. It was perfect for
cupping in his hand, the skin silky and warm to the touch, completely unobstructed from him
by any hair. He could have Pete stand in front of him and drag his pants down at any time he
wanted just to admire his pet, and he often did, taking him into his hand and pulling back the
foreskin to reveal the cute, little pink head. He would pet at Pete for hours, alternating
between massaging slowly along his cock and tight, little balls, as though he was trying to
make up for the cruel way he had lit Pete up with a car battery. He was truly sorry after all. If
he had known that they would belong to him—that they had never been touched by anyone
but him—he would never have been so careless.

“It’s not stupid. You’re such a good boy. My smart boy, you were making sure you were nice
and well-groomed for me to play with when I came along. My little puppy wanted to be
ready for me hmm?” Vegas had flicked meanly at the head of Pete’s member, hiding a smirk
against Pete’s shoulder as it twitched in response. Pete sagged against him, tension leaving
his shoulders at Vegas’s approval.

“We’ll get you back on it then, puppy. Finish up your face so you can be the best-groomed
pet there is.”

Vegas had gotten distracted then, tucking away the conversation in the back of his mind as he
focused on Pete squirming in his lap at the praise. But now as he stared at his list, he felt a
growing frustration at his inability to make the pieces make sense.

Pete was insecure. Pete said he didn’t care about his hair, but he seemed to not want it cut
short. Pete didn’t care about clothes. Pete wouldn’t look into mirrors. Pete in all senses
seemed to both abhor and not care about his appearance, but Pete also had permanently
removed the hair from his body.

Vegas gripped the pencil tightly in his fist, scowling as he tried to make the pieces fit
together.
This wouldn’t do. He needed more evidence. He needed more data. He needed to make sense
of this—get to the bottom of it to help his sweet boy feel comfortable, feel pretty, feel
treasured.

Vegas needed to run an experiment to collect more information to better understand what the
problem was.

Vegas would need to take Pete shopping.

 Chapter 2
Chapter Notes

Wow i'm like honored by the positive feedback I received on this work. I really wasn't
expecting it, so I'm going to up my game and really put my all in.

Side note: I'm out here with no beta and dyslexia. So if you guys see typos, please gently
inform me.

Also: ilikecheekbones, your comment about Vegas being a man of "the horny BDSM
scientific method" had me both absolutely rolling on the floor and also inspired.

Going shopping, as it turned out, was truly testing the patience Vegas had been trying to
accumulate.

He had dragged Pete from store to store, and as expected, Pete hadn’t given him much to
work with.

“Whatever you think would look best.” Had been repeated so much that Vegas thought it the
phrase might appear in his nightmares.

It wasn’t even that Pete showed total indifference. When Vegas had been at his wits end and
held up a lime green sequined monstrosity that he was certain Tankhun must have owned at
least three of, the corner of Pete’s mouth had merely twitched, a hint of a grimace, before he
had shrugged his acquiescence.

“If you want me to, I’ll wear it.”

He gave away little else, eyes never even looking toward the racks of store after store they
had gone through—not searching anything out, never lingering on something he might find
interesting.

It had been a long couple of hours, and Vegas could sense that both of them were losing
patience with one another.

Why the fuck was this little brat being so difficult.

As Pete shrugged for the millionth time at a pair of black leather Balenciaga pants, Vegas felt
the minimal grasp on he had on control of his temper slip from his fingers.

He should feel worse about it, but damn, he had beat his own record in anger management.
He would have to brag about it in therapy this week.
“God fucking dammit, Pete! Why can’t you just tell me what you like?” Vegas had snarled,
throwing the pants carelessly to the floor as an attendant scrambled to pick them up.

Pete’s head whipped toward Vegas from where he had watched the attendant scamper off,
eyes lighting up with fury.

Good. Fight back. Let me pin you down and rip whatever this is from inside of you. I’ll dig
my teeth in and pull it free so you can breathe.

“Because it doesn’t matter what I like! It doesn’t matter what you dress me in. I’m still going
to look like a fool beside you!”

Oh.

What?

Pete’s eyes shifted from sharp to surprise at his own outburst, as though he was stunned by
his own admission.

Vegas’s shoulders slumped instantly from where they had tensed, his sharp tongue dropping
whatever retort he had been gearing up toward. As always when they fought, he somehow
found himself launched off kilter and floundering.

Vegas had Pete by the scruff of his neck in moments, dragging him toward a private fitting
room and glowering at the tailor on staff who scurried off. The door was kicked shut, and
Vegas yanked Pete in until they were nose to nose.

Vegas breathed in deeply, counting to ten, before he exhaled.

Think before you speak. Choose your words carefully.

“What do you mean by that?”

Pete squirmed, whole body taut and nearly quivering. His jaw was tight but his eyes wide,
almost frightened, as the realization of his own outburst caught up with him.

Vegas thought back to the moment in safe house when Pete had gripped the knife tight in his
fingers before slamming his forehead forward. He thought of the first time he had seen a dog
fight, the way the dobermann had trembled away from its owner as it had been kicked into
the ring. He recalled the way the dog had surged forward, sleek and beautiful, jaws opening
wide to attack its own kennelmate; fleeing from the threat of one pain by embracing and
inflicting another.

Pete wasn’t perfect.

His baby was not perfect. His baby had his own human faults. His baby breathed, ate, shat,
and made mistakes like any other human.
Although Pete had put Vegas on his own path to redemption, seen Vegas’s faults and knew
what direction to push him toward, Pete was haunted by his own ghosts. Vegas needed to
exercise patience and careful control, needed to use a firm but loving hand to correct his
puppy’s behavior.

Vegas knew the moment Pete was going to lunge forward to try and run, found himself oddly
excited by it, goosebumps rising along his arms. This was what he was good for. Vegas
couldn’t give Pete much in life, but dominance he could give in spades.

The moment Pete’s body shifted to spring; Vegas’s arm was already slamming into his throat.
Vegas threw his own body forward, pinning Pete up to the wall as Pete choked for breath.
Pete’s hands went limp by his sides, the fight knocked out of him as he slipped sweetly back
into the comfort of his submission. He bared his teeth though, the only illusion he could cling
to of any disobedience against his master.

Pete knew better.

Vegas was not a cruel master. He knew what was best for Pete, and Pete had chosen Vegas
because he trusted him to do what was best for him.

Vegas couldn’t let Pete down. Not when Pete had given him everything.

The hand not crushing Pete’s windpipe came down hard across Pete’s cheek, the resounding
smack echoing in the room before being drowned out by a soft whimper. Pete’s body finally
sagged fully, held up only by the line of Vegas’s body pushing him to the wall. Vegas kept his
arm locked at Pete’s throat, but let his free hand rub soothingly into the reddened skin of
Pete’s cheek. He let his tongue drag slowly over his teeth in thought, resisting the urge to lean
forward and bite that flushed skin until it broke.

Vegas let the silence stretch between them as Pete looked to the floor with his head bowed,
contrite, before leaning forward and let his lips run along the shell of Pete’s ear as he spoke
softly.

“Now that my puppy has decided to be good, let’s try again. Tell me what you meant.”

For a moment Pete’s body stiffened, as though he might fight again, but Vegas shifted,
dragging his aquiline nose slowly down, ghosting across Pete’s jawline as his arm pressed
more firmly into Pete’s throat, lingering long enough for Pete’s lips to tremble, a threat and a
promise of what Vegas could do, before slowly releasing the pressure to let his hand take it’s
place, massaging slowly up along Pete’s pulse as he gasped lightly to suck in air.

“Ah ah ah, stay good for me, baby. Use those big boy words.” Vegas tutted meanly at Pete,
giving in to his own selfish desire to lean in and bite lightly at the slightly puffy skin of his
slapped cheek.

Pete huffed, turning his face away from Vegas, eyes rolling as though he was put upon, as
though this conversation was just a minor annoyance and not causing a full body tremble that
Vegas could feel.
“What do you want me to say? I may get off on you humiliating me but that’s a bit much. We
both already know.”

“Know what?” Vegas prompted firmly, digging his fingertips into the pulse dancing beneath
them.

“Vegas, I’m ugly alright? It doesn’t matter what you put me in—doesn’t matter what fancy
stylist you pay to cut my hair. I’m never going to be pretty enough …”

Vegas felt the tremble go through Pete’s body, felt as his throat clicked on a swallow, before
he vibrated with a laugh, tossing his head back and smiling as his own nose brushed Vegas’s,
so close their eyelashes nearly brushed as Pete finally met his gaze.

“Especially not when I stand beside you…especially not compared to…all the boys you’ve
had before…”

Pete held his gaze for a long moment, and Vegas searched the depths presented to him, trying
to look deeply into Pete’s soul for any understanding of where the fuck this bullshit was
coming from. Before he could speak, Pete vibrated again with a high laugh, the jagged pieces
of it cutting into Vegas’s heart directly.

“It’s okay! I’ve known this. I’ve always known this Vegas. I wish I could be prettier for you,
and I’m sorry I’m not. I had thought it didn’t matter so much. But lately you seem so
frustrated. If you can find something that makes you happier to look at me then I’ll wear it.
You can cut my hair however you want; it doesn’t matter to me.”

Vegas could hear his own pulse pounding in his ears. He didn’t understand. There was so
much deeply wrong with the words tumbling out of Pete’s mouth, each one feeling
remarkably like a bullet burning its way through his flesh and into his core.

“Who the fuck told you that?” Vegas suddenly yelled, surprising himself with the volume of
his own voice. Pete flinched in surprise, tensing up beneath his arms as his lips parted in
shock. His own voice stayed soft.

“Vegas… everyone knows. No one had to-no one had to tell me. I know everyone may think
I’m dumb, but I’m not blind”

“Someone told you this, Pete. Who the fuck told you this. Tell me right now.”

Vegas expected another fight. Vegas expected names to fall from Pete’s mouth. He didn’t
expect Pete to heave a bone-weary sigh, his head falling forward to Vegas’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry, Vegas. I promise. I promise, it doesn’t matter who told me. I know
it’s the truth and I’ve accepted it. I’m sorry I can’t change i-“

Vegas had Pete flipped before he could finish the sentence, pulling him back from the wall
and grasping him by the cheeks to force his head toward the mirror in the corner of the room.

“Look at yourself!” Vegas’s voice boomed in the space around them, his own hands
trembling as they pinched into Pete’s cheeks. He hooked his chin over Pete’s shoulder and
fought against Pete as he thrashed to try and free his head.

“Vegas stop-“

“Look! I want you to fucking look, Pete!”

“Vegas! No! I don’t need to s-“ Pete’s eyes squeezed shut, and he began to fight bodily
against Vegas, his elbow swinging back to land a hit into Vegas’s ribs. Vegas hissed out a
breath and kicked forward directly into the back of Pete’s knee, using his full body weight to
force Pete to his knees as his free arm came to wrap around Pete’s’ neck, pinning him into a
head lock as Pete thrashed his head side to side.

“Open your eyes!”

“Tankhun!” Pete screamed suddenly, fingers digging in tightly to the corded muscles of
Vegas’s forearm as he gasped for air. Vegas felt a full body shock run through him, and his
hands were instantly off Pete and held uselessly in the air as he pressed himself back against
the wall, as far away as he could be as Pete crumpled to the floor.

It was something they had come up with long ago. When Pete had approached Vegas on the
hospital bed after Macau had finally given them privacy. When Pete had bashfully looked up
at Vegas from under his eyelashes and told him that he could be the most important person in
his life, but that didn’t mean he had to give up being his pet. When he had laid his head in
Vegas’s lap and begged him to own him, to take responsibility for giving him hope that
someone had finally come to claim him.

Someone had finally given him a home.

It was their agreement then, that if the line was ever crossed, even for the briefest moment,
that they would have a way to stop and reassess. Vegas never wanted to push Pete again to
that moment in the safehouse when he had felt his entire world shatter.

Vegas could think of no better word to immediately rip him out of whatever mood he was in
than his cousin’s name. Pete had whole heartedly agreed.

But somehow in the months after that moment, they had never used their safeword. Despite
everything that had happened prior, as the rebuilt their life from shambles around them things
had seemed so easy between them. It was them against the world, and somehow they had
remained a unified front; stronger together than they ever had been apart.

Until now.

Pete’s back bowed forward as he pressed his head to the floor, trembling as he dug his fingers
into his hair and pulled. A muffled sob escaped, his body violently lurching as though he had
tried to suppress it, and Vegas’s knees buckled, sliding down the wall slowly. He felt like he
might be sick, seeing his sweet, darling boy so devastated by such a lie.

“Pete…”
“I’m sorry!” Pete gasped out, snapping up and swiping his hands across his face, scrubbing
away errant tears. “I’m sorry! I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine, Vegas. I said it was okay! It is. I-“

Vegas was up and across the floor in seconds, standing on his knees to fold Pete into his
arms, cradling his head into his neck as he began to rock him slowly. They were better
together. They needed one another, to grasp each other’s hand’s and walk the stumbling,
crumbling path toward a brighter future.

Puppy needs you.

“Poor sweet thing, oh what a pitiful little fool.” Pete jerked in his arms, starting to struggle
before Vegas shushed him, tightening his hold.

“You needed me didn’t you. Oh puppy, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry you were ever out there
alone. You’ve gotten such bad habits because I wasn’t there to correct you, hm?” Vegas fisted
a hand in Pete’s hair, yanking his head back to gaze into the prettiest pair of angry eyes he
had ever seen.

“Silly little thing, didn’t have me to teach you right from wrong. Didn’t have me to show you
what a perfect little treat you are. Didn’t have me to praise and spoil you and make you into a
good little lap dog. You were out there all alone, learning such bad habits, as if you have any
right to question your own worth. Don’t you know you’re too silly of a little puppy to know
that?”

Pete snarled, furious tears streaking down his cheeks, but before he could fight Vegas
swooped down, pressing their foreheads together and pushing down his own anger to hum
softly, putting on his softest, cooing voice.

“I’ll kiss it better, good boy. I’ll make it right. I’ll teach you.”

Pete glowered up at him but sagged into Vegas’s arms, like a perfectly trained boy.

Vegas continued to pet him for a while, cooing at him until Pete’s tears dried up, tamping
down on the desire to taste them. When he felt Pete was a bit calmer, Vegas leaned in to bite
lightly at the tip of his adorable nose, causing Pete to wrinkle it and groan in annoyance.

“Vegaaas..”

“Pete, look at me, tell me. Do you trust me?”

Pete’s eyes snapped to Vegas’s instantly, brows furrowing as offended at even the mere
question of his trust in Vegas.

“Say it for me, speak.”

“I trust you, idiot.” Pete snapped his head forward, lightly butting against Vegas’s in a mock
display of defiance.

“Then here’s what we’re going to do, little sweet. You’re going to go home. You’re going to
take some time to calm down. Take a nice, long bath and get clean for me. Then wait for e
like a good boy in our room. And we’re going to talk about this. Like well-adjusted, healthy
adults.”

Pete groaned, turning his head away before snapping lightly at Vegas’s finger as he forced
Pete’s head back.

“Since when?”

“Now now, you’re the one who used the safeword, Pete. That means we have to talk about
this.”

Vegas ran his fingers lightly along the edges of Pete’s teeth, playfully pressing forward on a
canine, appreciating the sharp press against the calloused skin of his trigger finger. Pete bit
down slowly, holding Vegas’s gaze, before exhaling through his nose and nodding.

“Fine.”
 Chapter 3
Chapter Notes

I guess this is the part where I warn y'all about stuff? Um. There's electrical play. and
Some like ..light CBT I think?

I've done a weird amount of obsessive research for this fic. How did "I want to write
smut to satisfy my own craving" turn into "yeah but it has to be accurate, representative
smut."

One of the things I marked in my note taking doc, you know, aside from the fact it
apparently takes six seconds for electro-ejaculation to be achieved, is that Pete seems
wildly perceptive and emotionally adaptive for the comfort of others. In the scene where
Porsche burns himself, I get the strong feeling that Pete was offering him an avenue to
actually talk about what was bothering him, and then when he realized Porsche didn't
want it, proceeded to do his "play dumb so Porsche doesn't feel uncomfortable and also
maybe laughs" schtick.

But it's also canon at the same time, especially in the novel (which I tend to ignore exists
until I want to pull on it for some of the few things I actually think add to the characters)
that Pete is oblivious as fuck when it comes to himself. (He literally thought a funeral
for someone with his name couldn't possibly be for him).

So I hope that I'm able to convey this and it makes sense as to why he's being so
¯\_(ツ)_/¯ .

In addition, I'm over the moon by how wonderful you've all been with regards to
comments. I really only posted this because I thought "well why not," so I'm so glad that
it's being enjoyed by others. They've really helped inspire me!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Vegas didn’t quite like therapy. He hated bearing his soul to some stranger, putting all the
worst pieces of himself out on display for someone to poke at and tell him “you have
attachment issues because of your father’s abuse” --no shit—and “have you tried these
breathing exercises” fuck off.

But therapy was a necessary evil. A place to confront his issues and learn coping
mechanisms, so that nothing would ever come between he and Pete again.
That was the only reason he went. For Pete.

But therapy had an added bonus. It turns out that his therapist had very interesting ideas on
how to “lean into” his desires. How to make “kink” a safe place for he and Pete to engage in
“healthy coping behaviors.”

As if there was anything healthy about the way he wanted to pin Pete to a floor and fuck him
so hard their bodies physically merged. Vegas knew he was obsessed in a way that purely,
psychotically unhinged. He knew better than to ever tell anyone about the hold Pete had over
him. There was nothing remotely healthy about the well formulated plan he had. That he
would keep Pete fucked full and well fed, groom him, spoil him, get them both to maybe stop
smoking so Pete would live a long, well-deserved life as his luxury lap dog, then one day
when Pete passed peacefully in his sleep—Vegas wasn’t sure how he would forcibly make
sure that one happen yet, he was still brainstorming—Vegas would carefully bathe with his
baby, cradle his cold body close in their clawfoot tub, scrub hum clean and pretty, then drape
him in white linen on their bed, douse them in gasoline, and fuck into him one last time, slide
right home inside of Pete, before setting them both ablaze so no one could ever separate them
in this life as they passed on to the next together.

It was a disgusting plan, but it was beautiful to Vegas. Maybe he would at least tell Pete, see
if he had a preference for flowers that Vegas was thinking of weaving into a crown in his hair
before they burned.

Regardless, back on track. Right, the benefits of kinky therapy.

What Vegas had learned as that Pete and he could use their dynamic as a safe space to open
up to one another. Encourage communication with safe punishments and rewards.

Pete often would push aside his own needs and feelings if given the chance, and Vegas had
found it was particularly useful to give the illusion Pete had no choice but to voice his wants.
Besides, if Pete could feel safe enough with Vegas that he could beg so sweetly for just one
more spanking, Khun Vegas, please I need it to hurt then he could slowly learn to associate
their room with a place it was okay to voice a myriad of other things.

Carrot and stick and all that.

By the time Vegas got back to their place, he had a well thought out plan to tackle their
current predicament.

Pete was not going to like it.

But a good pet owner knew what was best for cute little puppies. Whether Pete liked it or not
didn’t matter if it was good for him. It was Vegas’s job to deal with the icky choices, so that
Pete could be his happiest, most spoiled self.

Vegas rolled his shoulders, walked into their bedroom, and took one look at Pete lying
sprawled on the bed, before getting to work.

First things first, blindfold the puppy. He needs to not see the threat coming.

Pete put up little resistance to that, but Vegas could feel he was tense as Vegas worked quick
knots into the black silk cover around his eyes. That would not do.

Next, soothe your puppy. Let him know you won’t leave him. Give him some nice, gentle pets
to make him feel safe.

“I’m just going to get some things set up to help us, baby. I won’t be long.” Vegas ran his
hand slowly down along the naked expanse of Pete’s chest, mockingly giving a scratch near
Pete’s belly button as though he were an actual dog getting good tummy rubbies, a teasing
term Vegas had used once and gotten a swift knee to the balls for.

The teasing tickle had Pete huffing in annoyance, but he laid still on the bed, moving his arms
behind his head in mock nonchalance. “Go ahead then.”

The next few steps were easy. Set up the play area. Make sure you have your training tools
easy to access. Rewards and punishments need to be prepared so you can respond to
behavior immediately.

The wonderful thing about their room, was that Vegas had designed it to be entirely theirs.
No one ever came into the room. If Macau wanted cuddles, which he did all the time the
absolute little menace, he knew to lure Pete or Vegas to his room or the living room couch.
Not even the cleaning staff touched their room. Vegas took pride in maintaining it all himself.

The furniture had been entirely new, nothing that had ever been shared with someone else
had been allowed into the space.

And the cherry on top? Everything in the room had been selected by both himself and Pete,
and custom made.

Which meant that the breeding bench that Vegas dragged to the center of the room right now
was perfectly built to both of their measurements, ensuring maximum comfort for the long
game. The bench was minimally designed, at first glance it was just an amalgamation of
padded bars. It had carefully measured arm and leg rests, well padded but still firm enough to
keep Pete from sinking in too comfortably. The bar that he would bend over at the waist was
at the ideal height to put that beautiful ass on display and force a delightful back arch. No to
mention that it put Pete at the perfect height for Vegas to fuck for hours with minimal strain
on his core or legs. His body after getting shot, as much as he hated to admit it, was not what
it used to be. The bench had originally come with just four areas to cuff the wrists and ankles
in total, but Vegas had added several other places so they could truly test Pete’s flexibility
and stamina, not to mention the neck cuff they had added.

After he had organized a few additional pieces, he returned to the bed where Pete still rested
patiently, humming away to himself as though he hadn’t just broken-down sobbing in a
dressing room a few hours earlier.

Distract, divert attention.

Vegas had learned well by now not to fall into that trap. He grasped Pete by the elbows and
yanked him from the bed, dragging Pete toward the bench and shoving him over the middle
bar. Pete stumbled a bit in surprise, arms flailing as they tried to find the rests.
“Vegas! Give me a warning!”

Vegas could only smirk as he ignored Pete’s whining, narrowly missing being smacked in the
left eye as he grabbed Pete by the wrist and began to cuff him. He stayed silent as he worked,
fastening Pete into place before moving to the front of the bench, kneeling down and ignoring
the awful pop in his knee joints.

“Pete…”

Pete stopped squirming in mock irritation, going still as he dropped the act, realizing that
pretending to fight sinking wasn’t going to delay the inevitable anymore. He exhaled quickly
through his nose, then dropped his head and hummed softly to show he was listening.

“Good boy… you know I only ever want to make you happy… to take care of you…don’t
you?” Vegas reached for the collar he had set aside, slowly bringing the soft, thin black
leather to wrap around Pete’s neck, pulling it through the loop until it dug into Pete’s skin
momentarily, before letting it slide open a bit to settle through a notch that would actually
allow Pete to breathe.

Vegas saw Pete’s toes flex from the corner of his eye.

“I know,” Pete finally whispered, letting his head drop to hang between his shoulders as
Vegas stood to move behind him, pulling the careful knots from the blindfold and letting it
slip to the ground. He had turned the lights low, and Pete didn’t seem to actively be looking
around to try to catalogue what Vegas had chosen for their scene. Why would he, when this
wasn’t even a conversation he wanted to be having.

Vegas reached out to let his fingers dance twin lines on either side of Pete’s spine, admiring
the long expanse as he pressed forward, letting his own body drape over Pete’s, shielding
him. He let his nose run along the back of Pete’s shoulder for a moment.

“You’ll be good for me, won’t you? You always make me so proud, you know? Always listen
so well…You’ll do that for me now, won’t you my good puppy?”
Pete’s hips shifted for a moment, hands twisting as they tested the strength of the cuffs,
before he nodded. “Yes…”

Vegas drew back to his full height, raking his nails from the top of Pete’s shoulders down
along his spine and back to his hips, heart thrumming wildly in delight as he watched the skin
pinken, blood beading in some areas.

“Yes, what? Don’t tell me the silly little thing already forgot his good manners?”

“Yes, Khun Vegas.” Pete murmured quietly, voice still even despite the red lines streaking
down his back. Truly impressive, not even a flinch.

Vegas took a moment to admire the sight before him, truly appreciating the entirety of Pete’s
form for the first time since he walked in: the long fingers digging into the arm rests of the
bench; the plump, juicy ass in the air, just begging to be devoured. Vegas could feel himself
salivating, felt an itch along his gums to just lean in and bite until a bloody imprint of his
teeth remained.

Not yet, go slow.

Fuck it.

Vegas dropped to his knees dove forward, dragged his mouth along the soft expanse of Pete’s
left cheek. No. It wouldn’t do to bite here. Pete needed to know before they began that Vegas
was in control now. That any missteps would not be tolerated. That Vegas would give him the
firm hand Pete needed and make everything better.

Vegas let his lips run lower, ghosting along the sensitive skin where ass met thigh, before
moving inward, tongue darting out to tease lightly along Pete’s perineum. Vegas felt the full
body shiver run through Pete, could hear the deep inhale, and he couldn’t stop himself from
smiling before he darted down to press his teeth just barely into the tender skin of Pete’s
balls, immediately pulling back as Pete’s whole body jolted and he hissed.
“Why are you always so mean to my balls!”

Pete’s left leg rattled against the cuff on an aborted kick, and his head shot up from where it
had been hanging, turning to scowl over his shoulder at Vegas who could only wink,
dragging his tongue teasingly across a canine.

“I can’t help myself, puppy. They’re just so cute and sensitive. Wish I could just devour
them.” Vegas leaned in to nuzzle his nose teasingly against the silky flesh before him, before
reaching between Pete’s legs and grasping at his rapidly hardening dick, massaging it
teasingly between his fingers before giving it a teasing flick. “Besides, it always makes you
so wet. How am I supposed to hold back when you were the one dripping like a girl when I
put those jumper cables on you, hmm?”

Pete’s body jolted again, his knee coming off the bench in another attempt at a kick. But this
time was different, this time his whole body thrashed with the motion, and Vegas was sure if
the bench wasn’t held in place with temporary weights, it would have rocked. Pete snarled
back at Vegas, uncharacteristically naughty for this type of scene, as if-

As if he’d struck some type of nerve.

Vegas paused, his hand raised in the air, prepared to deliver a sharp smack but thrown off
kilter. Pete’s snarl dropped suddenly, his eyes trained on Vegas’s, his breathing shallow and
wild.

“What are you doing? Fucking hit me already.” Pete snapped, and Vegas almost took the bait.
Almost.

Pete needs you.

Vegas instead lowered his hand, letting his thumb rub and press soothingly along the skin he
had just bitten as he pondered along the pieces of the puzzle he had collected today. He didn’t
react to Pete’s trembling, to Pete’s thrashing, as he didn’t get the hit that he wanted. Instead,
he stood, letting his fingers massage slowly into Pete’s hips as he hummed in thought, tilting
his head this way and that, before continuing his massage along Pete’s sides, ignoring the
vicious growl he received. He ran his hands back up along Pete’s hips, before snaking one
hand down to grasp his cock, twisting and turning it, before pulling it back between Pete’s
spread legs as he scrutinized it, as though Pete was nothing more than show dog on the table
for examination. Vegas pumped Pete slowly in his hand, squeezing tight and dragging the
foreskin back so he could dig his thumbnail into the slit, smiling to himself as Pete hardened
fully in his grasp before immediately releasing him, watching Pete’s cute, little cock bob back
to slap against his stomach. Vegas reveled in the breathy whimper Pete tried to stifle.

Pete shook violently in his restraints, sagging against the bar as Vegas walked around to stand
in front of him, grasping him by the chin and yanking his head around to carry out his mock
examination, prying open Pete’s mouth, two fingers pressing between his upper and lower
teeth to get him to open wide.

Vegas couldn’t help himself. Not when that pretty, pink tongue was on display. He rolled his
own tongue in his mouth, gathering saliva up before spitting onto Pete’s tongue, delighting in
the way Pete didn’t flinch even in his distraught state, trembling like a leaf but not moving
until Vegas whispered a soft command to swallow between them. And Pete did, letting his
tongue loll out afterword to show what a perfect little angel he was.

Vegas inhaled sharply through his nose, closing his eyes to count to ten to get a grip on
himself, before he exhaled, reaching down to ruffle his fingers through Pete’s hair fondly. He
waited until Pete pressed forward into his hand, eyes slipping shut as he actively sought out
the soothing petting motion, to really begin. He bent at the waist, ignoring the strain in his
scar tissue, to press one, sweet, chaste kiss against Pete’s cupid’s bow. A promise, a
reassurance, and a gentle reminder of his love. Pete’s head tilted back, searching out Vegas’s
lips, and all he got for his effort was a teasing, barely there brush as Vegas stood.

“Now Pete, let’s talk…”

Vegas reached into his pocket to pull out a small remote, and with a flick of his finger the
room lit up blindingly. Pete whined as Vegas stepped aside, eyes opening to search him out
but jaw dropping as he came face to face in the cold light with their full length, trifold mirror;
three, helpless Petes staring back him with the angle.
Vegas exhaled through his nose, reaching down to cup himself to take a bit of the pressure off
at the thought of four, feisty, desperate Petes all at his mercy, scrambling all over each other
in the fight to bounce on his cock. “Khun Vegas, it’s my turn to cum pretty plea-“

Focus you horny bastard!

Vegas was ripped back to the moment as Pete jolted, the bench creaking as he shook his head
back and forth violently, eyes squeezing shut as he fought uselessly against his restraints.

“Vegas! Don’t-Not like this!“

Vegas let his hand fall to the back of Pete’s neck, digging his fingers in to pinch the skin
tightly, as though Pete was nothing more than a frightened animal to be scruffed.

“Settle.”

Pete jerked helplessly for a few more moments, before he slowed to a stop, his head bowed
as he trembled away beneath Vegas’s hand. His body remained tense, as though he had
realized fighting in that moment was a waste of time; as if he was merely biding his time for
the perfect moment to strike out again.

“Good boy,” Vegas crooned, releasing his tight grip but sliding his hand up to fist Pete’s hair
so tightly he felt a few strands give, before he yanked Pete’s head up toward the mirrors.

“Now open your eyes and tell me what you see.”

Pete groaned, tugging at Vegas’s hand as he tried to shake his head in vain. “Don’t want to.
Vegas, this is stupid. Can’t we just forget it? It’s really not a big deal.”

Vegas exhaled dramatically, dropping his hold on Pete’s head and turning on his heel to walk
away.
“Here, I thought you were going to be my good boy. Thought you would cooperate, make me
proud.”

Vegas bit back a smirk as he heard Pete’s responding whine, humming to himself as he
popped open a chest he had drug over in his preparations, gathering a few items he had
thought he might need.

“I am a good- Vegas! Why can’t you just drop it!“ Pete let out a cry of raw frustration, and
Vegas could imagine the furrow of his brow, the scrunch of his nose. Vegas took his time
returning to his spot behind Pete, dragging a stool over with his foot and taking a seat, resting
his chin on his hand as he took a moment to just appreciate the view.

“It’s my fault I suppose. I let you get all worked up like this didn’t I? What’s that thing we’re
supposed to do again in a fight? Take some time to cool off before we try to have a serious
discussion. I’m sorry, baby. Let’s get you calm before I ask all these nasty questions.”

Pete’s shoulder popped as he twisted to look at Vegas, lips parting on whatever bullshit he
planned to keep spouting to try and delay, try and distract, try and redirect. Vegas knew Pete’s
avoidance techniques by heart and had had enough. He merely raised an eyebrow at Pete,
flicking a stray hair from his brow before clicking open the cap of their preferred lube,
placing the tube directly over the pink, little furl of Pete’s hole and squeezing.

Pete didn’t so much as flinch as the cold gel dripped down between his cheeks, sliding along
his perineum and falling to the floor in slow, wet droplets. He simply clenched his jaw shut
tight, teeth clinking together as he realized the futility of verbal struggle in addition to
physical. His eyes stayed trained on Vegas though, two, dark, accusing pools fixed on him
unwaveringly.

Vegas felt a zip of pleasure up his spine just from holding the weight of that gaze.

“Did you know, Pete, that it’s common practice in animal husbandry to use electrical
stimulation to force an animal to ejaculate?“ Vegas let his eyes drop to the unassuming toy he
held in his hand, an ostensibly simple electrode that he had used multiple times on Pete
before, more often than not to tease his dusky nipples until they were puffy and blistered.
This toy, like all others in their collection, was custom, having been modified to fit the
intensity of the play they desired.

Vegas lifted the electrode and tilted it side to side, as though he were examining it, making
sure that it was within Pete’s line of sight.

“It works in humans as well. It’s apparently quite helpful for men with certain injuries who
wish to father children. You see, puppy, all you have to do is give a few, tiny, shocks to the
prostate. The average time is around six seconds from start to finish. Of course, you don’t
have any of those types of injuries, so for you, I wonder if it will be effective much more
quickly. Though I have to admit, it won’t be as fun for it to be over so fast. So maybe we
should test if it works for multiple rounds. You know, I’m curious myself… how fast can my
puppy go from an angry, disobedient boy, to a dazed, cumdrunk little slut who’s ready to
listen nicely? How many orgasms might it take?”

Vegas let the electrode tap against his lips as if in thought, tracking the way Pete’s eyes
flicked along the shape of his mouth.

Hungry.

“It’s my fault you’re so worked up after all. I should have known my baby needed his
exercise to get all that naughty energy out. Shouldn’t have forgotten you needed your walkies.
But I guess we’ll just have to care of that now.”

Vegas lowered the electrode from his mouth, letting it drag along the back of Pete’s knee for
a moment as he fiddled carelessly with the dial, giving Pete a few zaps at different settings as
he pretended to search for just the right level. He already knew how intense he wanted it;
already knew that Pete wouldn’t be satisfied without something strong enough to stop the air
in his lungs. His eyes flicked to Pete, watching as a muscle in his jaw jumped and his teeth
ground together, his glare intensifying as the trembling in his body increased. He remained
defiantly silent.

Vegas let the electrode run up along the back of Pete’s thigh, pausing to tap teasingly against
one ass cheek then the other, just to watch the little ripping bounce it created. Part of him
wanted to drag it out, to see when Pete might snap and start swearing at him again, but when
his eyes flicked back up to Pete’s, the playful smirk he could feel stretching across his face
dropped at the sight of a single, crystalline tear clinging desperately to Pete’s lash line.

He needs you.

Vegas brought the electrode to rest between Pete’s ass cheeks, letting the tip rub back and
forth teasingly as his free hand reached out, thumbing the stray tear away. Pete didn’t flinch,
didn’t even so much as blink, and Vegas held his gaze as he brought the tear to his own
mouth, tongue darting out to lap it up eagerly. Instead, Pete’s fingers dug helplessly into the
padding of the bench, and Vegas shifted, slipping the same hand onto the arm rest, palm up,
fingers splayed. For a moment, nothing happened, and then Pete’s fingers were threading
between his, knuckles white as his trembling hand gripped Vegas’s tightly.

“I’m here, Pete. I’ve got you.”

With a slow, steady push, Vegas slid the electrode into Pete, pressing firmly right into his
prostrate. He tutted softly in chastisement as Pete tried to buck away from the direct
stimulation. Pete grunted through his teeth, hips wiggling desperately, nails biting into
Vegas’s hand, before he was able to settle. Vegas watched his struggle admiring the lines of
muscle shifting artfully, waiting for the exact moment Pete calmed and then counting a breath
before he flicked the power to the electrode on high.

Pete’s body went taut, back arching against the restraints of the bench and thighs quivering as
he screamed, a raw, bloody sound that Vegas felt the echoes of in the depths of his own soul.

One.

Pete’s nails were digging bloody lines into Vegas’s hand.

Two.

Pete’s voice was cracking with his scream.

 Three.

Vegas’s pulse was pounding in his own ears, his hips shifting once, nearly helpless, to relieve
some of the pressure.

Four.

Pete suddenly arched in the opposite direction, head thrashing down before he was arching
back up again, hips pumping minutely, once, twice.

Five.

Pete was cumming, his scream silent and choked off as streams of white shot to the floor
beneath him. Vegas flicked the electrode off, but kept it in place to grind harshly forward
against Pete’s prostate, his own lips parting in awe as his beautiful boy sobbed helplessly, his
hips thrusting wildly against the air now that the electrode had been switched off. His tiny,
untouched cock bobbed helplessly with the movements, until Pete slumped against the bench,
face pressing forth into his arm as he tried to shy away from the pressure against his prostate.

“No more…” he whispered in a small voice, and Vegas relented for just a moment as Pete
caught his breath.

“Five seconds was quite impressive, Pete. But I don’t think you were listening at all earlier,
naughty thing. We’re not done yet.”

Vegas pressed the electrode right back into place against Pete’s prostate as he turned it on
high, squeezing Pete’s hand tightly as he listened to Pete sing.

Chapter End Notes

Next time: My smut somehow continues on its path of soft boys crying as they gently
fuck each other?

But then, next next time...maybe, we'll finally get some pure filth no feelings.
 Chapter 4
Chapter Summary

The lipstick was creamy, not at all sticky like he had expected. When he pressed his lips
together, he felt the weight of the color like a warm embrace, and if he closed his eyes,
he could imagine for one fleeting moment the petal press of another mouth to his.

When he opened his eyes, a single tear slipped down his cheek, coming to rest in the
corner of his reddened mouth.

Chapter Notes

Warnings: Uhhh..violence? Murder? More importantly, the f word gets used twice I
think. Like not fuck but the other one.

As always: I want to thank everyone for all the support and encouragement. : ) I shall
continue to make Pete a pretty baby for you.

Me @ Pete: :)

Me @ Pete in a skirt: ;)

Me @ Pete MURDERING in a skirt: :O ;))))

Vegas managed to work Pete to three orgasms before he was sobbing, his dick twitching but
only releasing little droplets of clear fluid. Vegas felt high; what had taken mere minutes had
felt like hours to him as he had watched Pete thrash and scream and snarl.

Vegas decided to grant mercy, slowly easing the electrode out of Pete and setting it aside so
he could rub soothingly at Pete’s hip. His other hand had long gone numb, but Pete hadn’t
eased up and was still clutching to it like a lifeline. Vegas knew there was hardly any pleasure
in the forced orgasms Pete had endured, knew that each had ripped through him, a burning
fire with no relief.
“Vegas…” Pete repeated over and over like a mantra, and Vegas leaned in to trail kisses along
Pete’s quivering thighs.

“Shhh, pretty thing,” Vegas murmured into the skin beneath his lips, flicking his tongue out
to taste as the muscle jerked beneath him, “I’m here.”

Vegas turned his head to run his cheek slowly into the plushness of Pete’s ass, his mouth
watering. He ran his hand up to part Pete’s cheeks, admiring his twitching, dusky hole. Vegas
dragged his tongue slowly across his lower lip, his thumb dipping down to rub slowly across
Pete’s hole, the callous from years of clutching a gun rough against the sensitive, tender skin.

Pete gave a full body jerk, muffling a sob into his arm as his hips tried to sway away. Vegas
pulled his hand back, only to bring It down full force against the curve of Pete’s ass.

“Let me play with you, naughty.”

“Yes, Khun Vegas,” Pete whimpered wetly, dragging his own cheek along his arm to try and
wipe away his tears, pushing his hips back toward Vegas’s hand like the good boy Vegas
knew he was.

“There we go, there’s my sweet baby,” Vegas cooed, his thumb moving back to press forward
into Pete, hooking into the rim and tugging lightly to open Pete up to him. Pete’s rim
glistened with slick, but the electrode had been small, and Vegas lamented the fact that three
orgasms later Pete’s hole wasn’t puffy and raw for him like usual.

Vegas felt the saliva pooling in his mouth and had to shake his head once, twice, to clear it.
Now wasn’t the time to focus on his desires. He went to slide his thumb out when Pete, the
little devil, clenched down with a whine, trying to keep Vegas in place despite how sensitive
he probably was. Vegas laughed, a soft, chiming thing, and couldn’t help but leaning down to
press a soothing kiss to Pete’s pucker.

“Shhh, baby.”
Pete’s hand trembled in his as he drew back, rolling out his shoulders and flipping his hair
from his face so that he could look clearly toward the mirror. Pete’s head was still bowed, so
Vegas gave a quick squeeze to his hand.

“Look into the mirror, Pete. I want you to tell me what you see.”

For a long, tense moment, Vegas wasn’t sure that Pete would obey, but Pete was his good
boy, and Vegas heard his long exhale before Pete’s head lifted, eyes finding his in the mirror.
That devastating, crazed smile took over, the one shown only to Vegas, and the full effect of
Pete’s dimples had Vegas feeling like it was he who had been electrocuted from the inside.

“The most handsome man in the world,” Pete whispered, eyes curving prettily with his smile,
and Vegas felt for a moment like he held the world in his palm.

Then he was aiming five bruising hits against the back of Pete’s thigh in rapid succession.

“That’s not going to work on me you little shit.”

Pete whined as Vegas finished with a rough pinch to his inner upper thigh, twisting the skin
viciously between his fingers.

“Try again. Look at yourself. Tell me what you see.”

Vegas released the skin he held, letting his palm smooth along the bruising flesh. Pete’s smile
dropped, and the tear tracks along his cheeks glimmered as he lowered his head, looking at
himself from beneath his lashes. His throat worked on a swallow, and it took a moment
before he shrugged, his grip on Vegas’s hand releasing, fingers curling away to press tightly
into his own palm.

“Just… a no one, I guess.”

Vegas couldn’t stop the scoff that escaped. “A lot of cum on my custom marble floor for a no
one.”

Pete’s head didn’t raise, but his eyes flicked to find Vegas’s again with a scowl. Vegas found
himself using both hands to pet carefully along Pete’s hips in apology, ending with an
encouraging squeeze and a slight nod of his head to indicate Pete should continue.

Pete sighed, looking to the ceiling for a moment with a long-suffering gaze, before his eyes
returned to the mirror. He was silent for a long time, but the trembling that had begun to
subside returned full force.

Vegas watched in fascination as Pete warred with himself. Vegas could see the pieces of his
mask desperately trying to realign, to tuck Pete away and hide him safely from the world. But
it was as though the edges no longer quite fit together, as if the pieces had become too
fragmented the day Pete threw it aside in his choice to kiss him.

Finally, Pete huffed out a hollow laugh, dropping his head away from the mirror as his face
contorted, brows furrowing in a look Vegas could only place in his personally written
handguide-to-all-things-Pete as shame. A tear drop appeared and slid down his nose, resting
on the delicately upturned tip, before dropping to the floor beneath them.

“I hate what I see, Vegas.”

“Why?” Vegas saw the gaping wound for what it was and pressed, begging Pete to let him in
so he could scrape out whatever infection was festering and preventing Pete from healing.

“Because! Fucking look at me. I’m boring. I’m ugly. I’m not good for anything Vegas. I
don’t know how you haven’t seen that. Our sex is great. I can give you everything you want
in bed because our interests are compatible. Our moods and tempers are well-suited. We
work well together in business and pleasure. I can throw punches, I can jump in front of
bullets, but that’s not special, Vegas. That’s replaceable.”

Pete stopped to swallow thickly, and Vegas stayed silent. It was as though the dam had
broken, and Pete began to laugh hysterically, head snapping back up to look at his own
reflection directly.

“There are a million other people who could give you that. You never found someone you
were this compatible with, sure, but I’m not the only one out there. What else do I have to
offer you? I’m not smart, Vegas. I didn’t even finish fucking high school. I’m not fun. I’m not
suave. I’m not good at dinner parties or gala events. I’m not even fucking eye candy for you
like-“

Pete broke off, biting into his lip before turning his head away from his reflection. He shook
his head angrily, as though chastising himself for slipping, and Vegas moved to stand in front
of Pete, letting his hand slowly come to rest against Pete’s throat, not squeezing, not pressing,
but offering a grounding presence as his other hand moved to fist in Pete’s hair.

“Like who, Pete?”

“Like Porsche!” and then those dark eyes were on him, furious and accusing. Before Vegas
could even begin to form a reply, Pete was continuing on, voice climbing in pitch and
volume.

“I’m not sexy like Porsche! I’m not fit like him, okay? He’s lean and muscled, his body is
perfectly proportioned. His face is beautiful, Vegas, I’m not blind. He’s so masculine and
beautiful all at once like some piece of fucking art. Even I had a little crush on him, so I get
that you wanted to fuck him. And I’m not dumb! I know some of it was to piss off Kinn, but I
also know that I’m never going to be a walking definition of sex on legs like him! Or you!
I’m never going to walk into a room and take everyone’s breath away like you do. I’m never
going to steal all the attention with my stupid handsome jawline or sexy, smug, glaring face!”

Pete inhaled on a ragged breath, the hurt in his eyes overwhelming in its intensity despite the
absurdity of the hysterical, nonsense he was spewing. Vegas felt a bit like he had just been
insulted by a kindergartener, but kept his mouth closed as he let Pete struggle to grasp for the
words to express whatever he had been keeping inside.

“And I’m never going to be pretty, as much as you like calling me that. I’m not Khun Tay
or…any of the pretty boys that you and Kinn have fucked. I’m not tiny enough. My face is
never going to be so pretty or sweet or dainty. Even with makeup, I just look like someone’s
bad idea of a joke. I’m just me Vegas. My face Is bland. It’s boring. It’s ugly. It’s good for
taking punches and that’s it. Why do you think no one has ever looked twice at me! Why do
you think you never looked twice at me until I was all you had to look at!”

Tears welled along Pete’s lashline,but didn’t fall. His words, laughable a second ago,
suddenly felt like a barb that had been aimed straight for Vegas’s heart. Vegas could feel his
blood rushing in his ears, and he sprung forward to hastily begin undoing the restraints
holding Pete to the bench.

Pete surged up as he was freed, whether to escape or to be held Vegas didn’t know, because
Vegas was faster, pulling Pete against him with one hand fisted into his hair and the other
crushing around Pete’s waist. They went down together, Pete’s legs buckling and Vegas
uncaring as he pressed his forehead to Pete’s, his heart pounding so hard he thought it might
break through his chest in an effort to force itself into Pete, to force itself into its home.

“Is that what you think? That I never saw you? That I only see you now because what?
Because you put out and it’s convenient for me? You think I survived four fucking bullets to
come back to you just to get my dick wet?”

Pete shook his head and then nodded, then shook his head again, as though he wasn’t sure
what he truly thought. He laughed again, raw and wet.

“It doesn’t make any sense otherwise, Vegas. I’m not--not pretty.”

“Who told you that you weren’t pretty, Pete?”

Pete choked, trying to yank his head away from Vegas’s grip, but Vegas held tight, forcing
Pete to stay pressed to him as they half crouched on the floor together, their faces centimeters
apart.

There’s no escape from me. You can never hide again.

Pete’s arms shot forward to grasp onto Vegas’s shoulders tightly, nails digging in as though
he thought Vegas might leave. Tears slid slowly down his cheek bones as his eyes squeezed
shut, and then he was surging into Vegas, pressing against him as if he tried hard enough, he
could press into Vegas, hide away inside the only safe place he knew. Vegas locked his arms
tightly around Pete, pulling him close and sliding forward into Pete’s lap so that he could get
enough leverage to hide Pete’s face in his neck.

“Just talk to me, sweet boy. Stop hiding. Let me make it better for you.”

Tears poured hot and wet into the hollow of Vegas’s throat, and finally, finally, like a tooth
whose last root had snapped in the grip of his pliers, the truth spilled out.

Pete could barely remember his mother. He had one, hazy idea of her he couldn’t be sure was
a dream or a memory, but when he thought of her, he thought of it all the same. He thought of
long strands of black hair, curtained around him like a safety net, tickling against his nose as
he curled silken locks into his fist. He thought of the smell of perfume, thick and floral,
enveloping him in its embrace. And he thought of the color red, high above him, getting
closer and closer, before he felt a kiss press to his forehead.

When Pete was young, he used to sit in his yaai’s lap for hours, running his tiny fingers
through her long, long hair. As he grew older, he would help her braid it back, fascinated with
the way the intricate knots could twist and turn into a functional piece of art. Something
beautiful that was accessible to them, even with no money. Yaai would indulge him in the
evenings by letting him practice and play with her hair, giggling as he pressed his face into it
and breathed in the scent of home.

When his father came in one day when Pete was eight and found him trying to recreate the
pretty braids in his own hair; his father beat him, then pinned him to the floor and shaved his
head with the only rusty straight razor they had.

His father had said nothing the entire time.

At first, Pete didn’t understand the lesson he was meant to learn from that beating. He
thought perhaps his father had been angry for any other number of things. They had been late
getting enough money for the electric bill that day, so it was likely the beating was because
Pete had been wasting time when he could be doing something useful.

As Pete grew older, he often found himself distracted in the marketplace. His village was
known for its array of colored fabrics, and he loved to see the local seamstresses craft a
variety of beautiful fashions. He supposed it was stupid of him, but his fascination was about
the beauty of the pieces themselves, and he never gave much thought to whether the designs
were meant to be gendered.

There was one auntie in particular who had a stall Pete would often linger outside of. In her
stall were rows and rows of dresses from the city, in a variety of cuts and styles so different
from the more practical or traditional garbs the local women wore. She also had a small chest
of cosmetics, and Pete remembered distinctly a group of his classmates huddling around the
chest and oohing over a tube of lipstick. He watched, dumbfounded, as they twisted the tube
up, up, up the small pop of deep crimson revealing itself like a flower unfurling, and then the
girls took turns holding it to their delicate wrists, giggling and chattering away at how it
compared to each of their skin tones. Pete wondered how it would look against his own.

Yaai didn’t own makeup. Or pretty, modern dresses. Pete himself owned only three changes
of shirts and four pants, all secondhand and ill-fitting. Pete knew these items were not
something his family would ever buy, so he knew better than to ask. But in his simple little
world of box, school, box, earn money, get beaten, help yaai, collapse into bed, repeat he
again, never thought much about the relationship between these items and gender.

All he really knew was that he thought they were pretty, and he wondered what it might be
like to try them.

By the time he entered high school, he couldn’t remember a time he had slept for more than
two hours at a time. He spent more time in the streets, fighting for money, collecting bottles,
and either tracking down or hiding from his drunken father, than he ever did in his classes.
His social life wasn’t exactly flourishing. He knew vaguely what other boys talked about,
from snippets of conversations he overheard at boxing matches or passing by the food stalls
his peers bought snacks from after school. They talked about things like cars, fast bikes,
video games, superhero movies, and skirts.

Boys his age went on and on about skirts and how there was nothing sexier than a pair of
long legs and a tight ass in a short skirt. They talked about lipsticks, about lipsticks the color
Pete had seen in the fashionable Auntie’s stall, and how good the color looked when it left a
mark behind after getting their dicks sucked.

Pete wasn’t sure at the time why anyone would be sucking on someone else’s dick, or what
lipstick had to do with it, but he was sure it was something he was probably supposed to like.

The more he thought about it, the more he supposed he did like the idea of it. He felt a little
dazed when he imagined twisting the tube of lipstick, leaning into a mirror to carefully drag it
along the shape of his lips. He wondered what it would feel like. It was a bit shiny, so perhaps
it would feel smooth, like a nice cream.

He imagined that the color would look beautiful against his skin, bright and flush lips in
contrast to the smooth creaminess of his cheeks. He imagined some boy coming along,
standing while Pete kneeled down, for an easier angle. His mind was a bit fuzzy about the
mechanics of what would happen next, but he knew the boy would push his pants down, take
out an erection that Pete and the sight of his pretty, colored lips had given to him, and offer it
up for Pete like a well-earned treat.

Pete wasn’t sure what it would taste like, or how he would suck it well, but the thought of
having his head cradled as the lipstick was brushed and smudged off of his lips and onto
some boys dick as he was used had him clasping one hand against his mouth as he ground
away at his own cock with the heel of his other in the shower. He had learned that when he
did this it felt amazing—an orgasm, the other boys had called it, and he wondered if the
strange, white fluid he released would feel the same against his lips as the creamy lipstick
would.

Pete never received birthday presents. All he ever got was a special meal from yaai, and for a
long time that was enough. But this year, he was determined to somehow buy himself the
lipstick.

He snuck out at night, fighting for money in matches his father didn’t know about, betting
against himself. He went to the docks on their island, begging to be allowed to transport extra
sacks of rice off incoming ships, skipping school entirely to make sure he was the first in line
in the mornings when the ships pulled into port. He nearly pulled the muscles in his back as
he carried extra bags, and he collapsed from sunstroke a few times, but he pushed through,
the image of red, painted across his bow lips.
One day, as he took a fist straight to his eye socket and the world went startingly black, he
thought of what his grandma had told him when he asked why she had never remarried.

“If I remarried, that new man would expect I should kiss him. But Pete, we should only kiss
the people we like. For some people in life, they may like two or three people enough to
share a kiss with. But for me, dear grandson, there is no one I have ever or will ever love
more than your grandfather. My kiss was only ever his.”

As Pete’s head slammed against glass-littered ground, he thought of the crimson lipstick,
painted across the soft, bow-shape of his own lips. He thought of how pretty his mouth could
be for the person he saved his kiss for, a perfect beacon to call them to him.

Right here, just for you, only for you.

He thought of a mouth pulling away from his, stained blood red from his kiss, claimed as his.

The next moments of the fight, Pete can never recall. He’s unsure if it’s because he had been
blinded by a rage or because the hit to his eye caused some type of head trauma. All he
knows is that one moment, he was on the ground, and he next he was pinning his opponent
down, fists bloody as he felt the crunch of nasal cartilage beneath his fingers.

The display of bloody violence that day won him double what he had been expecting, and
when he stood before the fashionable auntie’s stall a week later on his birthday, his left eye
still bruised but no longer swollen, he realized he had enough money to buy the lipstick.

And a skirt.

The auntie had promised him a deal if he bought both, she cooed on and on about how this
must be a gift for a special someone.
She was right. Pete was so delighted that when the person he would love would come to
collect their kiss, he could don both the pretty lipstick and the short, red skirt. It would show
off his legs, usually buried in tattered slacks or jeans, or covered in bandages.

For a moment as he went to hand over the money, he thought of yaai at home, and how
delighted she would be if instead he used the money to buy extravagant fresh meat for his
birthday dinner. A sick feeling of guilt twisted in his stomach, but the image of blood red lips,
bitten and kissed by his own, resurfaced from the pit of longing deep in his soul he spent
nearly all of his time repressing, and the next thing he knew he was back on the street, a
paper bag swinging in his hand as he felt the easiest smile he had ever worn spread across his
face.

That night, he waited for his grandmother to go to bed after his birthday dinner. He braided
her hair for her and sent her off with a kiss to her forehead, then scurried to the bathroom
after pulling the bag from its hiding spot under his blankets. He didn’t want anyone to see the
gift he would save for himself and his someday love.

In the bathroom, he took the straight razor and made quick work of the hair along his legs. He
had seen the legs of the girls who would count down fights and knew that the best look with a
short skirt like this would be a smooth leg. He giggled a bit wildly as he nicked the skin along
his knee, the familiar sizzle of pain only adding to his excitement in a way he couldn’t quite
understand. He let the blood well along the cut, and slide down his leg, admiring how the
streak of red was the same color as the lipstick he had bought.

When he was done, he hastily wiped the residual hair and foam from his legs, and cleaned up
the dried blood before shimmying eagerly into the skirt. It was much shorter than he had been
expecting, and he didn’t quite love the way his boxers peeked out from the hemline,
distracting from the beautiful contrast between his leg and the scarlet of the skirt. He quickly
slipped out of his boxers, tossing them aside to rest with his pants, and tucked his plain white
sleep shirt into the waist of the skirt, so that nothing would block the view that he had.

He backed away from their grimy, cracked mirror and beamed as he got a better view of his
legs, slender and long and lean in the skirt. Pretty, he thought, his eyes drawn to the angry
scrape at his knee.

He bounced forward to the sink again, fingers trembling as he uncapped the lipstick for the
first time, twisting the tube and swallowing as his mouth went dry. He tried to breathe
through his nose to calm himself, so that his hand wouldn’t tremble so badly when he applied
the color. He brought the tube to his mouth, careful to angle the lipstick just so, and began to
trace along the seam of his mouth, along the curving slopes of his upper lip.

It felt like a dream.

The lipstick was creamy, not at all sticky like he had expected. When he pressed his lips
together, he felt the weight of the color like a warm embrace, and if he closed his eyes, he
could imagine for one fleeting moment the petal press of another mouth to his.

When he opened his eyes, a single tear slipped down his cheek, coming to rest in the corner
of his reddened mouth.

That was when the door opened.

“The fuck is taking you so long in-“

His eyes met his father’s in the mirror, and raw, unbridled hate clawed into his chest, digging
its nails between his rib cage in its attempt to explode outward. His father wasn’t supposed to
see. This wasn’t for him!

Pete grasped for a tissue, about to wipe off his mouth, when his head was colliding forward
against the mirror, new cracks splintering off from the pre-existing ones and shards digging
into his eyebrow.

“What kind of ugly whore is this?”

His father was laughing, loud, hysterically—a hiccupping drunken laugh as he used his grip
in Pete’s hair to draw his head back, before flinging Pete headfirst into the mirror again.
“Oh, look at you. Do you think you’re pretty, son? You must have taken too many hits to the
head if you think you’re the type of faggot that could pull off this look.”

Pete didn’t fight back, he never fought back against his father, so he went limp as he was
thrown to the ground. He snapped his legs shut as he landed awkwardly, and the skirt slipped
up his thighs.

“Is that the kind of slut, you think you are? You think that’s how I can make money off you?
Sell you out on the street? Is that what you want?”

His father spit down at him, a hand coming down to slap him across the mouth, the palm
pulling away red.

“I’ve got news for you, Pete. No one is ever going to want to buy an ugly, worthless sack of
shit like you. Your face is only good for one thing. And I’ll show you what that is.”

His father had dragged him by the hair out of the house, not allowing him to stop to wipe his
face, to put on his shoes, to even pull on his boxers.

He had been taken to the underground fighting ring, and his father had thrown him in and
everyone had laughed.

“He wanted to be a slut! Can you believe it?”

His father had crouched over him in the ring as bets were made, and money changed hands.
His breath was warm on Pete’s face as he snarled, low in Pete’s ear so that only he could
hear.

“No one will ever want to buy you, Pete. The only thing your face is for is beating. Don’t
ever get any ideas that you are anything, anything, but a punching bag. You want to wear a
skirt so bad? Fine. Fight in one. But you’ll learn tonight Pete, what you’re good for.”
His father had stood then, taken a bottle offered to him and laughed loudly.

“This worthless piece of shit I’m stuck with; can you believe it? Trying to paint his ugly face
like a whore. Whoever wants to fight him can fight him. Hel lf, if you want to fuck him go
ahead, he clearly wants it—doesn’t seem to realize he’s too ugly for anyone to ever want like
that. You can kill him for all I care. He’ll learn his place and fix the disgrace he caused me or
he can die here.”

Six men had entered the ring with Pete.

Six men entered the ring and laughed.

One man had walked forward and tried to touch his bare thigh.

One man had blown kisses at him as he pulled a knife from his pocket.

Only one person was ever meant to see this, and Pete knew that person wasn’t here.

Six men entered the ring.

But seven men died.

After Pete slit his dad’s throat, he had stood over his corpse, a sea of blood around him, some
of it his own.

His lipstick had long smeared off his face.

His skirt was ruined, ripped and stained.

Most of the people who had been watching the fight had long scattered after Pete had dig his
fingers through the first man’s eyeballs. One man in the corner had stayed, and presented
Pete with a card bearing the initials in a language Pete couldn’t read and a number to call, as
a black van pulled up and men in black suits began to clean up the bodies Pete had left
behind.

A few hours later, Pete had burned the skirt, thrown away the lipstick, written a long letter
about how he had been offered a wonderful job in the capital but that he had to leave and start
immediately. He wrote that his father would be driving him, and they had stocked the kitchen
full for yaai. He wrote she should eat and rest well, and Pete promised to call often and send
her all he earned. He wrote a second letter that he planned to post a few days later, informing
his grandmother that his father had tragically passed in a car accident on the drive back from
Bangkok. He kissed his sleeping grandmother on the cheek before he left and was on a boat
before sunrise.
 Chapter 5
Chapter Summary

When Pete pulled away, Vegas’s mouth was covered in his kiss. Pete felt his toes curl
with a shiver of delight, and then he was dropping down, pressing his bloodied lips
along Vegas’s neck.

Chapter Notes

I felt so bad about how hard that last chapter hit everyone. So I present the prequel to
things getting better? Next chapter will switch back to Vegas's POV. I have no idea how
this chapter ended up entirely in Pete's tbh.

Y'all have really inspired me. Every time I got a comment I was immediately struck with
the mood to write. I haven't stayed up writing like this since I was a wee one.

Oh! Warnings?: Blood? An actual dog crate? Some very messed up ways of thinking
about trauma and love. A small sprinkling of: Vegas's dad made him do some things à la
novel canon. It's a one sentence mention but contributes to a huge piece of Vegas's ways
of thinking of his self-worth and capacity to love.

Is mental chess a warning?

“Why did you kill him that night… why not before?”

“I don’t know. I guess because he had ruined the only thing I had ever let myself hope for.”

At some point, they had ended up on the bed. Pete gazed up at their ceiling, at the black and
navy paint that created a nighttime sky, and the smattering of white stars strewn across it.
Vegas had told him, after the artist had finished painting the “fresco” on their ceiling, that it
was a perfectly accurate representation. They had lain on the floor, and Pete had let Vegas
point out to him the Western zodiac that could be found amongst the painted stars Pete had
nodded along but couldn’t really see the crab or the lion or whatever Vegas claimed was up
there. But Pete loved it all the same, because he imagined nights he had lain on his island’s
shores, gazing up at a sky that had never known light pollution and losing himself in the only
physical representation of the aching void within him he had ever seen.

Pete gazed at it now and couldn’t help but feel sick, remembering how alone he had felt that
night he had gazed up at the stars as he had ridden the boat to his new life. He turned his head
away, unable to meet the gaze he knew Vegas had fixed on him, instead looking toward the
bedroom wall.

Vegas’s arm was across his stomach, a comforting weight that Pete knew he didn’t deserve.
He let his gaze slide out of focus, and imagined for a moment what would have happened if
he had simply jumped off the boat that night, and slipped down, down, down into the waters
below.

A hollow, dark, nothing place to rest for a hollow, dark, nothing boy.

“Why were they even at the ring that night?”

Vegas’s voice cut through the darkness, and Pete returned to the present he had somehow
stolen for himself.

He shrugged his shoulder.

“Sometimes people came to watch the fights. There wasn’t much to do on the islands.
Fighting was entertainment, a way to make money, and therapy all at once. Our people were
good. Good enough that people from out of town came looking to recruit from time to time.
Apparently, I had been building a reputation. It was just… weird timing.”

He felt Vegas’s nose run along his shoulder.

“Feels more like fate to me.”

Pete rolled his eyes; twitching as Vegas’s thick, unruly dark hair tickled against his jaw.

“I don’t think I’m the type of person fate concerns itself with.”

Vegas’s fingers dug into Pete’s arm, nails biting in reprimand before loosening quickly. He
huffed out a soft breath of discontent, before nuzzling his head into Pete’s neck, quiet for a
moment before he murmured so softly, Pete wasn’t sure if it was actually intended for him to
hear.

“In love the heavens themselves do guide the state…”

“Money buys lands, and wives are sold by fate.” Pete finished for him, keeping his head
turned toward the wall even as Vegas sat up.

“How do you know that?”

Pete felt Vegas’s hand on his jaw, a gentle nudge to turn his head, and he followed, too tired
for any illusion toward disobedience. If Vegas wanted to see his face, he could see it. It
wasn’t worth hiding anyway.

“You like Shakespeare…” Pete answered simply, unable to stop a grin at the furrow of
Vegas’s brow. Confusion was an adorable look on Vegas. Pete couldn’t resist reaching up,
letting his finger press lightly to the wrinkle that had formed.

“You left a book once… when I first started working at the main house. I think you didn’t
want your Pa to see, I saw you toss it beneath the table when a meeting he was in ended early.
I was curious what it was, why you were reading it, why you wanted to hide it.”
“Pete, that book was in English.”

Pete nodded, letting his hand fall from Vegas’s face.

“Gave me a reason to take Chan’s English training more seriously. I asked for extra lessons/”

Vegas stared at Pete for a long moment, unmoving, unblinking.

“How much of what Macau and I say do you understand?”

“Enough to know he would appreciate if you would stop defiling me so that he could look at
me without turning red on our ‘in-law bonding dates.’ I never said anything because I’m not
good at speaking, and I didn’t want to take away from your ‘secret bro language.’”

Vegas huffed out a laugh at that, shaking his head for a moment, before he let his gaze
wander down Pete’s body, coming to rest on his hip. His hand followed, fingers tracing along
the cursive script, before his lips parted on a curse.

“Fuck. Pete is that. Is that why-so you really-”

“It’s what you were reading that day. You had turned the corner of the page down. When I got
the tattoo, I didn’t understand what it really meant; I just-I liked it. After I read that one…I
went and found more—I would stay up reading and wonder if you had read what I was
reading too. It felt like…it felt like a secret between us. Something that put me close to
you...”

Pete reached down to grasp Vegas’s wrist in his hand, pulling it up to bring it to rest against
his cheek.

“You never saw me Vegas, but I saw you. I saw the real you. I don’t know how no one else
did; you’re not that great at hiding who you are when you think no one is looking. Reading
those books. Having that tattoo. It was something selfish I let myself have. Something just for
me that no one could take away again.”

Vegas’s eyes became glassy, and Pete wondered for a moment what about this conversation
could possibly move Vegas to tears.

“And what, Pete? You would have never reached out for me on your own?”

Pete nodded because it was the simple truth.

“What right did I have? I had nothing to offer to you, Vegas. You’re you. I’m me. That secret
by itself was more than I deserved.”

Pete would have kept going, would have told Vegas that the reality of it was that he knew he
was a stray no one wanted. That he had been nothing more than an unwanted mutt who had
snapped after being beaten one too many times and maimed his old owner. That he knew
better than to hope anyone would ever take a look at him and want to claim him.

What took him by surprise, in that moment, were the tear drops that fell across his face—the
way Vegas’s trembling hand cupped his cheek to fix him with such a mournful, grief-stricken
expression that Pete saw for a brief, heart-stopping second, the shadows of diffuse pool
lighting across Vegas’s high cheekbones.

“Oh, silly little baby,” was all Vegas breathed into the space between them, His hand
smoothed Pete’s hair back across his forehead, and then Vegas was dropping down, and the
tears that were falling, tracing paths along his cheeks-- he couldn’t say who they belong to.

Vegas’s lips were on his then, and the world somehow righted itself. The monsters still
lurked, the shadows still loomed, but for a brief moment, as they kissed, there was a reprieve.

Perhaps there was no red, painting across their lips and marking Pete’s claim, but he was a
foolish child to ever think that was a right he could ask for.
This is more than he ever deserved.

Vegas was pulling back far too quickly, and Pete allowed himself a whine, loud and
unrestrained.

Even if I don’t deserve this, I have it. I can’t waste it. I just want us to be happy.

He let his legs fall apart, sliding them to crush tight around Vegas's waist. He surged up to
loop his arms around Vegas’s neck, chasing after his lips and sucking greedily at the bottom
one. The pit of longing inside him felt deeper than it had in a long time, he felt so hungry.

You said you would feed me.

He bit down, angry, as Vegas’s hands came to cradle his face to try to pull him back. He
threw his body weight forward, knocking Vegas into the bed so he could pin him like the
feral animal he felt like, tongue lapping into Vegas’s mouth greedily as those lush lips parted
on a groan of pain.

My kiss is only yours, please have it.

Pete gasped with pain when Vegas’s fingers were suddenly digging up, hooking under the
tender flesh of his jaw so that he could properly yank Pete’s head back.

“I’m not done talking to you, puppy.”

Pete deflated instantly; his mood killed at the thought of anymore talking.

He whined again to show his displeasure, letting his head fall with a thump against Vegas’s
chest, unable to hide the smug smirk as Vegas coughed when the air was knocked out of him.
“If you’re going to force me to keep having this pointless conversation, you can at least be a
good owner and give me pets. I’m being good, aren’t I?” Pete teased, trying to lighten the
mood he knew he had created.

Vegas grumbled something that Pete couldn’t quite make out with the sound of Vegas’s
heartbeat pounding beneath him, but the hand that had been gripping his hair shifted to
massage soothingly into his scalp. Vegas’s other hand moved to rest along the curve of Pete’s
ass, and Pete hummed his approval.

Silence stretched between them for a few moments as Vegas continued petting, but he knew it
wouldn’t last long. It was simply the calm before the storm as Vegas organized his thoughts
to continue the conversation.

“Pete, you really think I never looked at you because you were ugly?”

He laughed, because what a joke. “Vegas, I’m not mad about that, so don’t try to tell me a lie
to make me feel better. We don’t lie right? Isn’t that our rule?”

Pete felt the sharp inhale beneath his ear, and Vegas’s hand went still on his scalp for a
moment, before continuing it’s slow, steady massage.

“You think I was ever actually allowed to want anything?”

Pete blinked, his head turning to press and hide against Vegas’s chest as he mulled over the
question. He wasn’t sure what to answer, or if he was even supposed to, Vegas liked to talk
sometimes just to talk. Pete kind of thought Vegas was a lot like Hamlet in that way.

“You think I deserve your kiss at all?”

The fingers in his hair tightened suddenly to a bruising grip, and Pete let out an undignified
yip at the sudden pressure. He followed the hand in his hair, up until his face was eye level
with Vegas’s, gazing into the bottomless depths of Vegas’s eyes.

“You saved your kiss for me, but I kissed anyone my Pa asked me to. I never liked Porsche,
puppy. Maybe I would have thought he was pretty once, but the moment Pa asked me to get
close to him he stopped being pretty and just became another stain on my soul. I kissed. I
fucked. I said I love you like a whore.”

The words began rushing out of Vegas, and Pete knew it was better to let him let the hurt out
than to try and stop him. So, he waited and listened.

“You don’t think you deserve me, but what did I deserve Pete? You think I ever thought I
could look around and daydream about taking home the pretty little stray my cousin had
taken in? My cousin, who didn’t have to close deals by getting his cock out and had
everything he ever wanted. What could I have offered you, Pete?”

Vegas’s hands were cupping his face again, and Pete pressed forward into them obediently.

“You saved your kiss for me, You were such a pretty little thing, so loyal, so obedient. I
didn’t have any right to look at you when all I could give you then was hurt. Pete I would
have hurt you; I wanted to hurt you. You think, if I had let myself look at you before, I would
have let myself have you? Pete, I would have broken you because I knew I wouldn’t be
allowed to keep you. I would have taken your kiss and wasted it because I was a monster. I
couldn’t have pretty things for myself; didn’t know the first thing about taking home sweet
little boys and keeping my pets happy. And I would have been so selfish that if I couldn’t
have you then I would make sure that no one could.”

Vegas’s hands were trembling against his face, and Pete had had enough of his little
soliloquy, so he swooped down and stole a quick, chaste kiss from Vegas’s lips.

“Good,” Pete breathed against Vegas’s mouth, nipping once at the soft swell of Vegas’s upper
lip before he continued, “that’s what I would have wanted.”
And it was. Because that was the simple truth that existed between them. Their lives were
divided into the before and after. The before, when they existed as two broken people, whose
jagged edges and gaping wounds shredded everything around them. The after, when thanks to
serendipitous circumstance, they had been gifted a chance to come together at just the right
moment so that their pieces could align, and they could try to heal.

“It doesn’t matter, what we did or didn’t or do or don’t deserve, Vegas, Doesn’t matter who
we were or weren’t before.” Pete drew back, realization crossing his features as he sat up,
head tilting to the side as he looked at the man beneath him. His man, with all the broken
edges and pieces that Pete had been slowly mending; his kintsugi man—better able to love
him for all the things that made Vegas the version of himself that Pete had claimed.

“I’ve got you now; what matters is I’m never letting you go.” It was an easy declaration.
Much easier to believe than the fact Vegas may have ever found him pretty before, or that he
deserved the unfiltered and unfettered weight of Vegas’s devotion and attention. Pete gave a
carefree smile to the man beneath him, shrugging his shoulders mildly. “You may not have
been good at taking care of pets before, but you seem to be doing well now. I don’t really
want to give that up.”

Vegas looked for a moment like he might argue, but then his hands were on Pete’s hips,
fingers bruising the skin as he chased after Pete, sitting up to follow into his space. Vegas let
his eyes roam all over him, serious and pouty in the way he always was when conversations
didn’t go his way.

“Pete, I mean it, you’re beautiful,” Vegas was leaning in to shut him up with a kiss before
Pete could retort, only pulling back so he could continue on uninterrupted, “Don’t think for a
moment I’m not going to punish you for ever believing you weren’t just because someone
else said so. Is that how things work, puppy? Do you listen to other people?”

Pete floundered for a moment, torn between his obstinate disbelief that he could ever be
beautiful, and his desire to submit, to nod and agree and appease.

Vegas wasn’t stupid, but Vegas was a smooth talker, but Vegas didn’t lie, not to him.

He was brought from his internal spiral by canines digging into his lip, piercing into the soft
skin until he could taste blood welling over between them. When Vegas pulled away, he was
chasing forward, his tongue running across the lines of Vegas’s teeth to lap away his own
blood.

“Ah, ah, no puppy. Tongue back in.”

Pete whined, but complied, sucking the taste of Vegas’s mouth from his own tongue as those
dark eyes roamed across his lips. Vegas’s thumb came to rest against the wound he had just
bitten, smearing the blood along the line of Pete’s mouth.

Vegas was smiling then, his hand coming to Pete’s throat and pushing him back, holding him
at arms length as Vegas’s other hand slipped to his pocket, grasping for something.

“Don’t move, pretty boy.”

His hand tightened around Pete’s throat, and Pete relaxed into the pressure, the anxious zip
along his spine at being called pretty settling to a simmer. Pete let his lips part, let his eyes
drift closed as he fell into the soothing comfort of giving up everything to Vegas.

The sound of a phone’s camera shutter had him snapping his eyes open, but before he could
protest, Vegas’s thumb was in his mouth, dragging down against his lower lip, pressing into it
as the camera snapped away.

“Shh, let me look at my beautiful baby. Silly little boy. Do I need to remind you of your
place? Of course, I do…you can’t help it can you? My sweet puppy needs me.”

The phone was tossed aside, Vegas’s hand moving to lightly slap at Pete’s jawline, just to
tease, not enough to hurt, and Pete felt the awful clawing at his insides, the empty dark hole
of want that only Vegas ever seemed to satiate. For a moment, he felt the shame—the ugly
voice of his father, a nothing boy deserves nothing, and he thought about being pliant, about
smiling and allowing Vegas to do whatever would make him happy. You should thank him for
touching such a filthy stain of a human. But then he looked into Vegas’s eyes, and saw his
own soul reflected back at him. He breathed in the scent of their room; he felt the silken
sheets of their bed beneath his legs.
This was the home they had built. The place where only he and Vegas existed. How they got
there didn’t matter. What waited outside the door didn’t matter. Here they breathed as two
halves of one, twisted, depraved whole.

No matter what he was, no matter what he thought of himself, Vegas wanted him.

So, Pete gave in, fell into the dark pit of longing that consumed him from the inside and
turned, digging his teeth into Vegas’s wrist until he felt the skin give, smearing red across his
mouth and whining high and pretty, loud as he wanted to be because he wanted Vegas to
know.

His leg struck out, catching Vegas across the chest, careful to avoid any scars, and knocked
him into the headboard. Pete was fast, and he stretched out across Vegas to trail his bloodied
mouth along Vegas’s sharp jawline, pinning Vegas beneath his thighs and squeezing tightly at
those beautiful, narrow hips.

“Khun Vegas,” he let himself mewl, his lips trailing up up up, smearing a wet, rouge kiss to
Vegas’s smiling mouth, “you let me be so naughty, such a bad puppy. I need you to punish
me, been so, so bad.”

When Pete pulled away, Vegas’s mouth was covered in his kiss. Pete felt his toes curl with a
shiver of delight, and then he was dropping down, pressing his bloodied lips along Vegas’s
neck.

“Tell me how I was a bad boy, Vegas, please tell me. Show me how to be your good puppy
again.”

He let his fingers run beneath the half-opened shirt Vegas wore, tracing along the smooth
planes of his chest, before he was ripping straight through the fabric, dropped his kisses down
further to the center of Vegas’s heart.
He wanted to sink his teeth in, but was stopped, not by Vegas’s hand, nor his cruel words, but
by the one thing he didn’t expect to ever hear.

“No.”

Pete growled, unabashed as he jolted upright, scowling down at Vegas, willing himself not to
be distracted by the expanse of smooth, bloodied muscle beneath him.

“What?”

“I said. No.” Vegas smiled, as if he had just told a funny joke at a Sunday brunch and not just
denied Pete what could very well be his last fucking meal he is so hungry, he’s starving, how
dare y-.

Vegas reached up, and Pete stilled, his blood practically sizzling in his veins with excitement.

Yes, give me give me give me, choke me, cut me, burn m-

Vegas booped his nose. Tapped his finger right to the button tip and actually had the balls to
look Pete in the eye and say:

“Boop.”

Pete’s mouth dropped open, and Vegas laughed, rolling his hips up to dislodge Pete so he
could stand from the bed.

“You haven’t learned your lesson at all, have you puppy?”

Vegas tossed aside the remnants of the shirt Pete had torn, walking to their closet and
disappearing, before reappearing just moments later, a new shirt hanging loosely around him.

“You aren’t in charge here. I know what’s best for you. Not you. I make the rules. I give the
punishments. I give the treats.”

Vegas stalked back to the bed as he began to do the buttons to his new shirt, and Pete could
only stare, heart hammering away in his chest in absolute rage and horror I’m going to maul
you -stupid bastard

“You want me to punish you, because you’ve gotten this idea that all you deserve is
punishment. But I’m going to show you, pretty puppy, what you deserve.”

His heart was going to explode, cold sweat was beading along his hairline as Vegas leaned
over to press a kiss right between his brows.

“I’m going to show you, Pete, your place is to be my spoiled little lap dog, pretty and
decorated and shown off like the little jewel you are.”

Pete thought he might be on the verge of a panic attack.

“Now, I think you need some crate time to think about your place and calm down while I go
gather some things I need. Then we’re going to teach you a very important lesson, baby.”

A snapping sound rang into his ears, the familiar, grounding weight of a collar against his
throat. It was different than the collar Vegas had used earlier, heavier, with a thick metal ring
that Vegas was snapping a leash to.

“Come on puppy, off the bed. Down boy.”

Pete followed the command woodenly, he felt like he couldn’t feel his feet, his toes, his
fingers. Vegas had to push him to all fours on the floor, and he didn’t realize he was crying
until Vegas’s voice broke through the roaring in his ears.

“Shhh, shhh, shhh oh I know baby, I know. It’s scary, isn’t it? But this is what you need. This
is what I’m here for. Come on, let’s go have quiet time in your safe space. Let that noisy
brain of yours rest while I take care of everything.”

Vegas was yanking the leash then, and Pete could only trail after him, stunned and distraught
and horrified.

He had been in control. He had had Vegas in his hands, ready to spank him raw like the
worthless slut he was.

Vegas led him to a little alcove in their room, a small, cozy thing with an overstuffed chair
nestled between a soft, shaded lamp and an overflowing bookshelf. And to its side, draped in
an array of various colored fabrics, a large-custom dog crate, large enough for Pete to curl up
in comfortably even with the assortment of cushions, pillows, and blankets inside. A nice,
calm down spot for Pete, when their scenes were too intense, or when he needed to go deep
and feel cut off from the rest of the outside world.

Or sometimes just when Vegas wanted him there, to sit still and be a good puppy while Vegas
sat in the armchair and read.

Vegas ushered him into the crate, and Pete watched, trembling as the door swung shut, the
lock sliding into place with a deafening click .Pete felt less like Vegas’s good puppy and more
like an overgrown chihuahua as he trembled.

If he really, truly, wanted to get out, he could reach his fingers through the bars, easily
disengage the lock by lifting it from the outside.

But even so, as the lock settled, Pete felt …safe.

He was just a silly puppy. He should listen to Vegas.

“I’ll be back soon, Pete. I promise not to be gone long. I’m going to get some things for you.
I think we need time to breathe, to reset before I start. Why don’t you curl up and take a nice
nap, hmm?”

Vegas knelt to smile at him through the bars, his fingers curling against the metal, Pete’s kiss
still smeared all over his face and neck.

Pete let out a breath as the sight comforted him.

He’ll come back.

As Vegas stood to walk away, Pete let himself sink down into the cushions, rubbing his head
back and forth along the smooth velvet of his favorite, the one he had stolen from Vegas’s
side of the bed.

And if he doesn’t, I can find him and drag him back myself.

He’s mine. I kissed him.

 Chapter 6
Chapter Summary

“There’s only us, puppy. It’s us. I want to see you.”

Vegas slowly uncurled his fist, uncapping the tube and twisting it up for Pete to see.

“I picked the color, Pete. A pretty color for my pretty boy.”

Chapter Notes

nothing too crazy in this one so I'm not sure i have to warn anyone about anything other
than an abrupt ending?

I'm so glad everyone is liking this! I'm having so much fun writing it.

That being said, I started writing this at the airport on the first day of a ten day vacation,
but unfortunately, I'm boarding a plane in a few hours because, like Pete, I am a simple
country bumpkin who moved to the big city to sell my soul to the corporate grind.

I absolutely will not be abandoning this story though, it's been a remarkable stress relief
for me to write, but please be patient with future updates!

Also, someone asked me a really great question about how the dynamic here works. I'm
going to post my answer at the end of the chapter notes, because I realize I never
elaborated on that and it might be helpful!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

When Vegas returned, he didn’t immediately rouse Pete from the slumber he knew he would
find him in. Instead, he deposited the things he had gathered to the side and sat down in the
armchair, stretching out languidly to stare at his sleeping boy. In a past life, he would have lit
up a cigarette to enjoy gazing at his little art piece, but a bullet to the lung was a surprisingly
good motivator to quit.
He had a new, more preferable addiction to indulge in anyway.

Pete snuffled in his sleep, fingers twitching idly. Vegas allowed himself a smile, enjoying his
picture of Pete, cheek smushed into a cushion, completely out to the world.

Vegas could have laughed at the duality of his two favorite images of Pete in his crate. On the
one hand, the sweet, sleepy boy, safe, hidden away, pampered. On the other, his greedy boy,
pressed up against the door, fingers curling through the bars as he rutted his wet, pink
cockhead against the metal, “please, Khun Vegas, please let me suck you I’ll be good, I’ll be
so good.”

Vegas shifted in his seat, unbuckling his belt and undoing the button to his pants. He had
never been a person to struggle to get hard, but sometimes with Pete he wondered if there
was something wrong with how fast he could go from zero to one hundred. Hell, most of the
time when he was with Pete it’s like zero didn’t even exist, all it took was a look at Pete and
he was halfway there.

He let his head fall to his shoulder for a moment as he watched Pete sleep, the cute smush of
his cheek causing that beautiful dimple to pop. Was it healthy to be obsessed with a dimple of
all things?

He eased the zipper of his pants down quietly, slowly, trying not to wake the sleeping puppy.
Pete’s lips were parted, the blood long dried and streaked across his face messily. Vegas felt a
shudder work from his spine down to his toes as he thrust his hand into his pants to give
himself a squeeze, taking himself in a loose, dry grip and stroking lazily.

Sometimes he thought of Pete’s face above him that night, the way his own blood had
streaked that mouth after he had asked if Pete would be the one to kill him. He daydreamed
about the what if, what if Pete had complied, bent down and sank his teeth into Vegas’s
throat, the entire, serpentine, pointless existence of his coming to an abrupt and blissful,
nothing of an end in Pete’s arms.

The mental image of Pete biting out his throat really shouldn’t turn him on the way he did.
Vegas gave himself a few more greedy pumps, before he let his hand slide back out of his
pants as he moved to his knees on the floor, silently slipping the locks with practiced ease.
Pete didn’t so much as flinch, his ability to sleep like the dead in their room and their room
alone both endearing and concerning all at once.

A slender ankle was near the door, and Vegas gripped it in his hand, massaging into the
delicate, inner skin, before giving a slow and steady pull, dragging Pete’s leg toward him. He
recalled once hearing that it was jerky, sudden, inconsistent sounds and motions that would
awake a person, but slow, soft, steady sounds and motions wouldn’t cause the same
disturbance.

Whether it was that fact or just the sheer amount of subconscious trust Pete had in him, he
didn’t know, that had Pete letting out a sleepy mumble but otherwise staying blissfully
unconscious.

Vegas bent down, dropping his head as he dragged Pete’s ankle out of the cage, pressing his
lips to the bone, before sucking at the fading bruises dotting the skin.

Marks on the neck were so conventional, so boring. Marks on the neck were for people like
Kinn, who had no creativity to their ownership, no creativity in their worship. He wanted
Pete to be a walking collage, covered head to toe in his love so not a single part wasn’t
branded as his, so that no one ever questioned how deeply Vegas felt.

Pete moaned, squirming as his eyes blearily opened, and Vegas took the opportunity to yank
hard, bodily dragging Pete’s lower body out of the crate. Pete flailed a bit, but went pliant,
gazing up at Vegas with the disorientation of someone who had been deep in REM.

“Mnfmmm?” Pete mumbled as he reached up to rub his eyes, croaking out something in
Southern Thai. Vegas, as skilled as he was in languages, hadn’t quite yet picked up a mastery
of Pete’s home tongue, especially not when Pete was mumbly with sleep, as he often was
when he unwittingly shifted to his first language.

“Did someone have a good nap?”

Pete grunted in response, tilting his head back and then that beautiful, slender neck, wrapped
up tightly in Vegas’s collar, was on display. Pete’s eyes closed again lazily, and Vegas gave a
quick pinch to his inner thigh.

“Come on puppy, up, up, up, don’t you want cummies?”

Pete’s eyes shot open, before his hands were smacking to his face as he tried to twist away
from Vegas.

“Vegas! Stop trying to make cummies a thing between us!”

Vegas clicked his tongue disapprovingly as he grabbed Pete by the hips and forced him back
over, pinching higher up on Pete’s thigh just to be mean as he put on the soft, baby voice he
used when he either wanted to dote on or completely humiliate Pete.

“Does my sweet little boy not like when Khun Vegas gives him cummies? You don’t want
Vegas to rub that tiny, pretty prick until you’re milked, baby?”

Vegas anticipated the knee aimed straight for his chest and blocked with his hand, laughing as
Pete groaned loudly and crossed his arms over his face to hide.

“You say you hate it, puppy, but look, you’re getting hard, hmmm?” he reached one finger
down to lightly press against the reddening skin of Pete’s cockhead, god he was always so
pretty and pink. Just the perfect color to match what Vegas had brought him.

“I’m always hard around you, you stupid asshole” came the muffled reply behind Pete’s
arms, and Vegas felt the statement resonate deeply within his own heart in a way that made
him feel surprisingly tender for such a lewd, snarky statement. Is this what people felt when
they spoke of soulmates?

Bending down, he pressed a soft kiss to the skin right beneath Pete’s belly button, nuzzling
into his warmth. “I love you so much.”
The words were so easy; the easiest words he ever had to say, when it was Pete he was saying
them to.

He looked up as Pete shifted, the arms that had been blocking his face coming to rest behind
Vegas’s neck. Slender fingers were pushing his hair back, playing through the strands, and
Vegas felt his insides turn disgustingly gooey as Pete smiled at him.

“I love you too.”

Pete didn’t say it often, though he showed it. Vegas didn’t really know why, but he was
almost glad. When Pete did choose to say those words to him, Vegas felt a bit like it was he
who was the pet, eagerly begging for his master’s praise and affections. If it was something
Pete said more often, Vegas really feared what would become of the tattered remains of his
reputation as powerful mafia heir.

They stayed silent for a moment, just gazing at one another, before Vegas was reaching up to
lace Pete’s fingers with his, sitting back up to pull, sliding the rest of Pete’s body out of the
crate and into his lap.

“Come on now, sit still for me. Puppy needs to be cleaned.”

Vegas reached over to a pack of wipes he had brought, removing a few and beginning to wipe
the dried blood from Pete’s face and neck. Pete tilted his head pliantly, nose wrinkling as
Vegas scrubbed particularly hard at his lips and the taste of cleanser seeped into his mouth.

Poor baby.

Vegas leaned forward, parting his lips to let his tongue run slowly over Pete’s, lapping away
at the chemical taste as he dragged the wipe down, wiping away at Pete’s skin long past the
last blood stain had been swept away. He grunted as Pete’s tongue flicked against his
playfully, and then they were kissing, panting into one another’s mouths eagerly as they
tasted and explored. Vegas tossed the wipe aside to grasp at Pete’s hips, pulling him flush to
his lap to grind upward. Pete gave a little gasp of pleasure as Vegas gave a teasing thrust,
rolling his hips in a slow circle to tease right back.

“I’m surprised after those three forced orgasms earlier you’re able to get it up at all, pretty”
Vegas murmured into the kiss, before pulling away with a soft. wet smack.

“’s what naps are for,” Pete breathed, trying to chase after Vegas’s lips, sucking the lower one
into his mouth eagerly.

“Maybe I should have gone for four; I was honestly hoping I could get you to squirt.”

That had Pete pulling back to scowl, a pretty blush high on his cheekbones. He actually
looked embarrassed. Disgruntled little minx.

“Vegas, that’s not a thing! The boys in those videos are just peeing!”

“You say that like me making you cum so hard you piss yourself isn’t the hottest thing I’ve
heard.”

Pete’s hands were covering his own face then as he groaned, absolutely mortified—his blush
now bright red and spreading down his neck and across his collarbones.

“Again, you protest Pete but I only see you getting harder.”

“I’m not- it’s not because of the piss!”

“Of course, it’s not puppy, how inconsiderate of me to imply you aren’t potty trained like a
good boy.”
Pete went to jerk out of Vegas’s lap, and that just wouldn’t do.

Pete, despite all his raw, deadly strength, was fast. He was a beautiful killing machine. There
was nothing more grotesquely stunning than to watch the full, devastating fury Pete could
unleash when given a target, when fully focused, the moment Vegas unclipped the leash and
told him go. Vegas knew, that if the circumstances were different, if Pete hadn’t looked
straight into Vegas’s soul and deemed him worthy of his loyalty, that he would be absolutely
no match against Pete.

God, it turned him on to have such a powerful beast eating from his palm.

As it were, however, in their bedroom, with his guard down, content to relax and just exist, it
was as though Pete was somehow adorably disconnected from his own body. It was as if the
moment he looked into Vegas’s eyes, his body subconsciously relinquished its control.

So yes, Pete was fast. Pete was strong.

But here?

Vegas was faster. And while Vegas might not be physically stronger, Pete, deep in his core,
knew better than to struggle.

In a split second, Pete’s face was pressing into the soft, plush rug in their alcove, Vegas
sitting on the small of his back, one of Pete’s arms twisted between their bodies.

“Don’t get huffy just because you got embarrassed, puppy.” He released Pete’s arm, pleased
when Pete stayed completely still beneath him. Vegas let himself slide gracefully down along
Pete’s body, admiring the welcomed sight of his juicy, spanked pink bottom, before he was
reaching to draw his own erection from his pants, sliding it between those cheeks to rut
forward a few times. Pete gasped quietly beneath him, and his lower back arched as Vegas
reached down to grip his hips for better leverage.
“See, baby? Feel that? I’m hard, too. Nothing to be embarrassed about. Everything about you
makes me hard, Pete. Do you know why?” Vegas let his fingers scratch down, thick red lines
raising as he moved his hands from Pete’s hips to his ass cheeks, spreading one to the side so
he could take his cock in the other hand and tap teasingly against the most delicious little
hole he had ever seen. Pete muffled a noncommittal whine into the floor, less interested in
Vegas’s question and more interested in pushing back greedily against him.

“It’s because everything about you is so beautiful.”

Pete went rigid beneath him, turning his head to pout at Vegas over his shoulder. All Vegas
could do was laugh, bending over Pete to press a kiss against the pinkened shell of his ear.

“Oh, are you angry, little baby? Did you forget? That you’re my pretty boy, and that I was
going to make sure you knew it?”

Vegas let himself grind forward slowly, once, twice, three more times before he was
withdrawing. He expected Pete to whine, for his hips to chase after him like they normally
would, his greedy, hungry boy, but he was surprised when Pete turned his head and let his
hips drop to the floor, arms crossing in front of him so he could drop his face into their
cradle.

“Are you pouting, Pete?”

Pete didn’t answer, and Vegas tried to bite back a smile as he reached for the bag he brought,
rummaging through it leisurely. If Pete wanted to be pouty, he was going to take his sweet
time.

“it’s such a shame that my puppy doesn’t want to be my pretty baby…” Vegas let himself
sigh melodramatically, finally grabbing the first item he wanted, before turning back to Pete,
admiring the smooth lines of his back, the scars stretching across it. Pete didn’t take the bait,
continued to ignore him.

“You know, Pete, only good puppies who admit that they’re just pretty babies meant to be
spoiled get to have Khun Vegas’s cock.”
Pete’s head shot up at that, turning to fix Vegas with a wide-eyed, horrified stare.

“You would not.”

Vegas’s hand trembled, but he forced down the instinct to lash out and slap that sweet,
insolent mouth for backtalking him.

Puppy needs you. Needs you to be sweet.

“Oh, but I would puppy. Only good boys get treats. If you want to be a bad boy that’s fine,
but you won’t get to touch me, won’t get to taste me, won’t get that cute little ass of yours
wrecked until you decide you want to be good.”

Pete scowled, gritting and baring his teeth at Vegas like the feral animal he could be. As shy
and stubborn as Pete could be about his staunch aversion to being called a pretty baby, he had
no qualms about expressing his complete adoration to Vegas’s cock. Vegas had to admit,
being in a relationship with Pete had been great for his ego in that regard.

Despite the fact that Vegas was not the tallest man out there, and despite the fact he
constantly expressed his disdain for being born into his family, he had to say his gene pool at
least served him well when it came to the size of his dick. He wasn’t overly large when it
came to length, but certainly longer than average. And although he heard Kinn was longer, he
really had to applaud himself on his girth—much thicker than Kinn there thanks. He certainly
had never felt self-conscious about his size before, but the borderline obsession Pete had
developed for him since the first time they slept together had taken him by surprise.

Where past partners had whined that he was too thick, my jaw hurts, Pete could spend hours
on his knees beneath the office desk, gazing up at him with steadfast devotion through teary
lashes, brattily pouting when he was forced away. Where Vegas would have had to give
prostate massages until his fingers were cramping to get his partners stretched and relaxed
enough that he could fit comfortably, Pete would often knock his hand to the side and crawl
on top, absolutely captivating in his haste to sink down and get Vegas inside, whimpering out
little ah ah ah’s as he willingly and eagerly split himself open on Vegas.
Vegas had been lusted after before, for a variety of reasons. He had been wanted for his
status, for his money, for his power, for his looks, for his sexual prowess, sure. But no one
had ever wanted him with such blistering, carnal, animal passion as Pete.

Pete scowled at him, furious, his jaw still firmly set. Vegas sighed in mock disappointment,
reaching down to tuck himself back into his trousers.

Just a little push.

“It will be torture for you, but I won’t mind so much. Just because you don’t get to have my
cock doesn’t mean I won’t enjoy myself. There’s so many other things I can do. Maybe I’ll
tie you up, spread that pretty little ass open and feast on it until you cry. But you’ve had so
many orgasms tonight and I’ve had none, that doesn’t seem very fair. So maybe instead I’ll
put you in your crate and have you watch while I touch myself, just look at your pouty little
mouth, listen to you beg until I come, and you won’t get a single drop, pretty.”

Pete’s whole body quivered, and Vegas watched as he warred with himself, every muscle
tensing to clamp down on the desire to fight.

Come on.

Pete turned his head back away from Vegas, and Vegas watched as his own nails dug into the
skin of his arms. Vegas leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of Pete’s head and
inhaling as he moved his hips forward, one quick, teasing rut against the cleft of Pete’s ass.

“Don’t you want me, baby?”

“I always want you; you know that you jerk,” Pete whispered, deflating as his hips shifted
back in a slow, teasing circle to chase after Vegas. He finally sighed, hanging his head in
defeat.
“Say it, Pete.”

“I’m…I’m … a..”

“Mine. You’re not just a, you’re my pretty baby. Say it right or I’ll make you say it again.”

“I’m…Vegas. Fuck. I’m your… pretty baby…”

The words were whispered so softly, so brokenly that Vegas had to bite back the urge to
scoop Pete into his arms and coddle him.

“And?”

Pete floundered for a moment, as if he had forgotten, before sighing and mumbling the rest,
“deserve to be spoiled.”

“There’s my good boy.”

Vegas peppered kisses along the top of Pete’s head, before drawing him up. He leaned back,
patting his thigh once, twice, condescendingly.

“Come on, good boy. Come get treats.”

Pete shuffled forward awkwardly; head hung to avoid Vegas’s gaze as he crawled forward
into his lap. Vegas darted forward to press a quick kiss to the corner of Pete’s mouth, then
held out his hand, palm up, to present Pete with the object he had gathered.

Pete stared, and stared, and stared some more.

Fuck, is he breathing?

“No.” Pete finally choked out; eyes locked onto the golden tube in Vegas’s hand. When
Vegas looked up to Pete’s face, his eyes were clouded, unfocused…

“Puppy, look at me.”

“Vegas, no. This isn’t fucking funny! This isn’t a joke!” Pete went to knock Vegas’s hand
aside, but Vegas saw the move coming and yanked his hand back, fist curling protectively
around the lipstick he held. His other palm shot out, fingers grasping for the leash still
swinging from Pete’s collar, fisting the leather and yanking Pete forward until they were nose
to nose.

“I’m not joking, Pete. You deserve this. I want this. I want to see you in this. If you really
need to, you can safeword. But Pete, you deserve this. I want you to trust me, baby. Look at
me. Look at me!” Vegas pulled hard on the leash, and Pete’s eyes finally flicked from where
they had been locked on Vegas’s still closed fist. He looked petrified but stayed silent.

They breathed together for a moment, then Vegas leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the spot
of Pete’s cheek where he knew a dimple hid.

“There’s only us, puppy. It’s us. I want to see you.”

Vegas slowly uncurled his fist, uncapping the tube and twisting it up for Pete to see.

“I picked the color, Pete. A pretty color for my pretty boy.”

Pete swallowed, his eyes trained on the tube between them, wide, unblinking, shocked. Vegas
thought back to the time he had leaned over the unrolled window into Pete’s car, teased him
with the box of condoms, when Pete, disheveled and sleep deprived, had worn the same
expression.

Shocked, and beneath that, for those who knew where to look, the faint glimmers of desire.

“I got a few shades actually. I got excited, so I couldn’t really resist. I’m saving some of the
other colors. One reminded me so much of you, it was called chili morocco, for my spicy
little puppy to give me his spicy kisses. But I thought for today, something a bit softer for us.
This one is called rosewood. Do you know why I picked this color, pretty?”

Pete didn’t answer verbally, just gave a quick, jerky shake of his head. Vegas normally
wouldn’t tolerate that, but he was being patient so he let it slide.

“When I saw it, all I could think of was how beautiful you would be when I put this on you
and come all over that perfect mouth.”

Vegas titled the tube to admire the rosy color then grasped Pete’s chin between his fingers,
tilting his head down. He watched as Pete’s lips parted without even having to give the
command, so eager. He took a moment to admire their shape, the sloping lines of upper lip,
the softened roundness of the lower one. And he waited.

“Vegas,” Pete finally whispered, a soft, desperate plea between them.

He brought the lipstick forward, applying gentle, careful strokes, tracing across the perfect
arch of Pete’s cupid’s bow, watching as the color bloomed vibrantly, brighter and bolder than
any bruise he could have left.

Pete’s lashes fluttered, eyelids falling to half mast as he held perfectly still.

“My good boy, my perfect, beautiful, sexy boy.”

Tears beaded along Pete’s lash line but didn’t fall.

The lipstick was twisted again, the cap replaced, and Vegas had to resist the urge to lean in
and lick across the pretty pink of Pete’s mouth. Instead, he reached for a handheld mirror, his
hand shooting to grasp at Pete’s leash as he tried to jerk away.

“Ah ah- no. Settle. Let me show you how good you look.”

He could feel the tremble settling back in, but Pete settled for him, staring into the mirror as it
was held in front of his face. His lips twitched lightly, but he stayed stone still, face
unreadable.

“My delicious boy, I could eat you up. Let me taste you, pretty, won’t you give me your
kiss?” Won’t you be my good, pretty boy? Won’t you let me love you?”

A single tear escaped to run down Pete’s cheek, and then he was nodding earnestly, fingers
fisting into Vegas’s shirt to drag him in so he could press their lips together.

The kiss was like every other kiss they had shared. Nothing changed in how much they loved
one another, how much they wanted one another. The kiss was just as dirty and raw, just as
hungry and full of longing and possession and unbridled desire and love as any other kiss of
theirs had been. But this kiss was different in that it was a kiss that was truer, a kiss they
shared after a new piece of the puzzle they created together had clicked into place.

Vegas could feel the thin layer of tint spreading from Pete’s mouth across his. He let his
hands fist into Pete’s shaggy hair, pinning him in place as he let his mouth part, sucking and
biting away at the rosy lips against his. He knew that Pete loved him, of course he did. But he
knew that he was fundamentally, irrevocably, starved for attention, starved for affection, and
to have the physical proof of Pete’s love painted across his own mouth settled some deep,
aching part of his soul.

It also had him desperately horny. Was it possible to have a lipstick kink? New goal: get Pete
to always wear lipstick so that Vegas never had to walk out of their room without some claim
on his face, his mouth, his neck, his shirt collar, his chest.
It would pair well with the scratch lines across his biceps, shoulders, and back.

Vegas let out a long appreciative groan, licking fervently into Pete’s mouth as his hips rocked
up. He tried to part for just a moment to murmur a “good boy” to Pete’s mouth, but Pete was
yanking him back in by the fisted grip on his shirt and swallowing down the praise before it
could leave his lips.

Desperate boy.

He kissed Pete until he felt he couldn’t stand to wait any longer, then drew Pete back with a
hard tug on his hair. He panted for breath for a moment, much more easily winded than he
used to be, perhaps because he got shot, or perhaps just because Pete somehow managed to
own even the breath in his lungs. Pete’s eyes flickered open halfway, beautifully dazed as he
sank down down, like the good baby he deserved to allow himself to be. The rosy color had
long smeared outside of the line of his lips, and Vegas let one hand move down to wipe at the
feathered lines with his thumb.

“Messy thing,” Vegas cooed, trying to tamp down on the butterflies erupting in his stomach.
How could he have gotten so lucky to have this?

Pete let his head tilt to lean into the touch, flicking his tongue out to steal a teasing lick
against Vegas’s finger, before he was smiling, beautiful, raw, deadly as his eyes darted along
Vegas’s face. That perfect, pink mouth was stretched wide, offering a teasing glimpse of that
lethal bite.

“Mine,” he whispered, and Vegas didn’t bother to stop himself from nodding.

“Of course, baby, yours.”

He dropped the hand that wasn’t still tangled in Pete’s silky locks to grasp for the lipstick
tube he had discarded, uncapping it with his teeth and bringing it back up to Pete’s lips to
apply a fresh, even coat. Pete didn’t fight him this time, didn’t even flinch. Instead, he waited
patiently, leaning forward after Vegas was done to press a quick kiss to the inside of Vegas’s
wrist as he twisted the product back into the tube.

Vegas laughed, loosening his grip on Pete’s hair to ruffle it teasingly before he was easing
Pete from his lap, ignoring the displeased growl it earned him. He picked up the end of Pete’s
leash again as he walked toward the armchair in the alcove, allowing himself to slide into it
with an air of practiced nonchalance.

“Alright Pete, I think I promised a certain pretty pet a treat.”

Pete scrambled forward eagerly, coming to rest between Vegas’s thighs as they were spread to
welcome him, sitting with those long legs folded beneath him like he had been taught to do.
He placed his hands in his lap, all the previous fight and stubbornness long gone as he ducked
his head to press lightly toward Vegas’s knee.

“Good boy, waiting so nicely. Keep your hands still baby but look up.”

Pete’s head lifted, looking up at Vegas behind a veil of deceptive coyness, the lines of his
lashes still mildly clumped together from the wetness of his tears.

I’ll give you a much better reason to cry.

Vegas exhaled carefully as he wrapped the length of the leash around his wrist, his other hand
slipping down to palm at himself over his trousers as he took the time to admire the petal
pink decorating Pete’s mouth.

“Fuck, look at your mouth baby, look how lovely.”

A blush worked its way across Pete’s cheeks, over the bridge of his nose, but he didn’t argue.
Vegas ground the heel of his hand down against himself one final time, before he was
reaching into his pants to remove his erection fully.
“Look baby, look at how hard you made me. This is all for you, all because of how beautiful
you are.” He pumped himself slowly as Pete watched, that painted mouth parting on a silent
invitation.

“Khun Vegas…” Pete sighed, his voice strained. Vegas let his eyes lift from that sinful mouth
to watch the complex array of emotion flit across Pete’s eyes.

He stopped stroking himself to guide his erection forward, his other hand tugging against
Pete’s leash to draw him in, so that he could rub himself slowly across those parted lips.
Dragging his cockhead around that perfect pout, he smiled as he traced those lips like he had
done when he applied the lipstick, the pretty cover smearing across the silky skin of his glans.

“You hungry for it, beautiful? Gonna suck Khun Vegas like a good puppy? Get that gorgeous
kiss all over him?” Pete was nodding eagerly, chasing Vegas’s erection as he pulled it back
just a bit to tease, “gonna claim it with your mark, baby?”

Pete’s eyes snapped back up to his, and Vegas felt the warm skin of his erection twitch in his
palm with the sheer hunger he saw in those depths. Vegas thought over his next words
carefully, not wanting to push Pete too much too fast.

“Tell me, Pete. Tell me and it’s all yours. Tell me you’re my beautiful boy.”

Pete exhaled through his nose, brow furrowing in annoyance, and Vegas thought for a
moment he would fight back. But then he was leaning in, his eyes softening around the
edges, as he gazed up at Vegas pleadingly.

“Vegas…I’m your beautiful boy…”

That devastating smile was spreading across his face, dimples on full display, and then Pete
was diving forward and fuck, slurping him down straight to the hilt before Vegas even gave
him approval. Vegas wanted to be mad about it, normally would never tolerate such absolute
abhorrent behavior. But the sight of those rose-colored lips stretched wide around him as
Pete swallowed him down had every coherent thought of his out the window.

Pete slid his way back up with a long, slow suck, teasing against the head with a few swirls
of his tongue, before he pulled back with an obscene pop to give Vegas another, glorious
smile.

Absolute little shit.

So Vegas retaliated, grasping Pete’s head with his hand and pulling him back down, fucking
up into his throat, once, twice, before holding him down. Pete could hold his breath for a long
time, and there was nothing more satisfying than his complete submission to being held
down, nose pressed to Vegas’s pubic bone, like he was nothing more than an eager
cocksleeve.

Finally, after several, long, moments during which Vegas allowed himself a few, teasing
grinds, he could feel Pete’s throat spasming with the need for air. He dragged Pete back up
and off of him, letting him inhale once, before he was pushing Pete back down, restarting the
process over and over. Vegas lost himself in the pleasure Pete gave to him, letting it flow over
him like soothing waves, but forced himself to stay focused enough to begin a mantra of
praise.

“Look at you, messy, drooly boy. Gonne get your lipstick all over your face .Good. Khun
Vegas picked that out just for his beautiful baby boy to play with.”

“Wanted to see it all over me, puppy, wanted you to kiss me everywhere with those perfect
lips.”

“Thought about how pretty you would be the whole car ride, just wanted to get home to see
you, baby.”

“Fuck, look at you, most beautiful puppy in the world, Pete.”

 Pete whined, tears brimming back up along his lash line. Vegas felt himself getting closer and
closer as a few bubbled over, sliding down to join in the mess of lipstick smeared around
Pete’s mouth. He stopped holding Pete down and instead held him in place, snapping his hips
up to fuck his throat eagerly.

“Fuck, Pete, you’re my everything. Gonna come on that face, perfect, pretty face.”

He pulled Pete up and off entirely, grasping his own dick to pump furiously as Pete whined,
struggling for a moment against the hold on his hair as he tried to get Vegas back in his
mouth.

“Khun Vegas-“

“No, Pete. I told you, I’m gonna finish all over that gorgeous mouth, Gonna paint my pretty
little princess.”

Pete’s head jerked in his hand, but Vegas was coming undone, hard and fast, his hips
pumping desperately as the words that had slipped out unbidden echoed in his mind.

My pretty little princess.

Thick ropes of white were painting across Pete’s lips, across his cheeks, streams of it running
down the petal pink smears and across Pete’s tongue where his mouth had fallen open in
surprise.

Chapter End Notes

Just a quick thank you to Asmae for asking me this and giving me the opportunity to try
and clarify!
"I get the sense that there are levels to this. Because on the one hand one thing I realized
watching the show is that literally no one, regardless of status, has any sense of true
privacy. I also feel like Vegas, and Pete (especially as someone who for years seems to
have been repressed), are horny depraved shits who, like Kinn and Porsche, are fucking
everywhere and don't care about showing how much they love each other as they grow
in their relationships. I also think there is some sense of hierarchy that gets tangled up in
this, given that there is no real privacy in this life. There are always going to be body
guards or staff around, and for someone who grew up surrounded by this type of staff,
and for someone who was well-experienced being part of that staff, there's some degree
of thinking that "I'm paying you to take a bullet for me and keep your mouth shut, now
turn your head because I'm not waiting until everyone has gone to bed to finally love on
my baby." I think the reason I feel this way is that especially for someone like Vegas
who spent the whole show running around, pressing buttons, flirting, and begging for
scraps of love, he has absolutely zero desire now that he finally has love to feel any
sense of shame. For someone like Pete, who "just wants to follow his heart" he's along
for the ride.

That being said, even for them, there is a fine line between the love they express in front
of others and the love they save just for themselves. There's a sense of, "I want everyone
to know I belong to you," to their dynamic, and at the same time a sense of, "but there
are some things I will only ever give to you and you alone." I think for them, it's a very
blurry line because they're sorting out not only their own personal issues, but also trying
to navigate how they fit together as a couple in the "after."

Tbh, I don't even know what that line is so it's very fair that it's not obvious haha

As to your question about the specifics of their control, I think at times it's more about
illusions of control than actual control. Vegas makes the decisions because to some
degree it's easier for Pete to pretend he had no say and express fully what he wants. I
think that actually might be a line for them in a way. Pete saves his actual expressions of
wants and needs solely for Vegas's eyes. He's a good obedient boy always, but only
Vegas gets to see the full, explicit expression, of his desires. To the outside world, Vegas
demands and Pete obeys. Within their world, Pete is vocal about his wants, but the
"ultimate decision" lies with Vegas who "knows what's best for him." Of course, with
the caveat they can safe word."
 Chapter 7
Chapter Summary

Scared puppies bite.

That’s all Pete was in the grand scheme of things. A sweet little puppy, desperate for a
home, desperate to be a good, obedient boy. But he had been abused, lost on the streets,
told he was worth nothing when he deserved to hear he was the universe. And now he
was scared—scared to let himself want, to let himself have, to let himself ask and hope
for fear of the hand snatching back the coveted gift, the belt striking down, the booming
laughter for thinking he could ever deserve treats.

It was easy for Pete to accept the part of the dynamic between them where he was
owned. He was infallibly loyal, could give himself to a master that would keep him and
would never ask for anything for fear of losing his home. It was easy for him to be good
and serve.

But it was hard for him to accept that he could ever deserve anything more in return.

Vegas knew Pete loved him. But sometimes he feared that Pete didn’t quite grasp just
how much Vegas loved him.

Chapter Notes

I was at a work reception and someone asked what I did during my break. I panicked
and was like oh look they broke out the tequila let's go do shots. And that's how I ended
up hungover on a Tuesday. And that is also why this chapter is short.

But more importantly:

Vegas canonically showed that he knows about flower language. So I did some research
into flowers that have special cultural meaning in Thailand. To this day, i’m not really
sure if Vegas is actually devout in any religion or if anything is a ploy, because while he
took Pete to the temple, he also has a lot of Catholic iconography? But Vegas is
obviously the type of person to do something solely for aesthetic so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Also,
Vegas only took Pete to the temple after he noticed Pete following him, and after he saw
Pete bow to the altar in the minor compound. If you go back to that episode you can see
Pete is the only one who bows, Vegas doesn’t, and the camera specifically shows Vegas
see the bow. So I don’t really know how Vegas feels about religion, but I know how Pete
feels, and I know how Vegas feels about Pete. All of this, and the selection of flowers I
felt fit thematically for this story, informed my choices.
 Hibiscus: youth, beauty, femininity

Lotus: rebirth, enlightenment

Peonies: happy marriage,

Torch ginger/ginger lilyL everlasting love.

In addition, I have a very important question for the next chapter in the end notes, so
please take a look and share your thoughts

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Pete had been silent in the aftermath, and they hadn’t mentioned it in the days since then. It
was partly because they had received a call nearly thirty minutes after, and partly because
Vegas knew that a cornered animal needed time to adapt to something new and frightening.

So he didn’t press it, and they continued on as normal, their days passing in endless meetings,
negotiations, deals, nightclubs, breakfasts with Macau, and their normal menu of brutal,
hard, nasty fucking across any available surface and during any stolen moments.

But Vegas made sure to find ways to show Pete his support while Pete sorted out the tangled
web of his mind.

A hand, sliding into his back pocket as they walked together, cupping his plump bum and
massaging possessively.

A sweet kiss to his brow as Vegas handed him a water between meetings.

An endless haze of compliments in front of others, just to watch the blush creep up Pete’s
neck and into his hairline.

“Pete looks so lovely in this lighting, don’t you think, Porsche?”

“Macau, I was thinking of having a new family portrait done. Pete’s just too beautiful to not
have hanging up in the foyer.”

“I just have the prettiest baby, come sit on my lap Pete. Don’t fuss now, Kinn’s a big boy, he
can focus and deliver his address to the shareholders without getting distracted by me petting
you. If he can’t, it’s just because you’re too cute to look away from.”

“Cutie.”

“Pretty baby.”

“Going to split this gorgeous ass open when we get home.”

But the most forward thing Vegas had done, was set up a glass display vase on the vanity
between their sinks, organizing the lipstick tubes carefully by color. He had purchased damn
near the whole line, unable to choose and helpless to his selfish desire to shower Pete with
the love, affection, and luxury he knew Pete had never received.

He had been particularly drawn tp this particular line of lipstick, not just for its creamy, silky
texture, but because the tube itself was artfully crafted to allow a little peek at the color. Each
golden tube sat proudly in their designated place, glimmering in the opulent bathroom
lighting and offering a teasing display of potential kisses.

Would he pick them based on mood? Would his kisses be organized: playful pink, ravenous
rouge, outraged orange? Or would he pick them to match Vegas’s outfits, their own
saccharine couple’s routine, a custom matching kiss to pair with his shirts?

Neither of them acknowledged the new addition to the bathroom, even as they stood side by
side each night, brushing their teeth.
After a few days had passed, Pete moving woodenly through life, as though his mind was lost
someplace far away, Vegas thought his puppy needed just the gentlest of pushes. As he stood
one early morning, shaving in the bathroom, he was struck with an idea.

After he finished his morning routine and cleaned up their counter, he stood before the glass
case, letting his fingers run along each tube in consideration.

Burgundy bodysuit.

No.

Pulsing rosehip.

No.

Chili Morocco.

No.

Corail Dolmain.

No.

Carmine retro…

Yes.
Vegas smirked to himself as he popped the shiny tube from its place, bringing it up to twirl it
between his fingers in consideration.

While Pete had spent a good portion of his life, adorably oblivious to arbitrarily imposed
gender binary of masculine and feminine fashions, only to be “woken up” with the cruel lie
he could never fit either, Vegas was fortunate in that he had a much more relaxed relationship
with fashion. Perhaps it was odd, considering his father’s obsession with outdoing the main
family, engaging in constant hyper-masculine dick measuring contests. But his father had
loved a good silk ascot, so perhaps it wasn’t so surprising that he had been less domineering
over Vegas’s fashion choices –what his son wore didn’t matter as much, so long as he was the
best dressed in whatever style he chose.

Still, Vegas couldn’t say he had ever given much thought to lipsticks until his recent
obsession with Pete’s mouth.

Vegas uncapped the wine-red lipstick, twisting it up and applying it in a few, quick swipes.
Pete still slept soundly in their bedroom, their schedules for the morning for once not
aligning, and Vegas thought a nice little message on the mirror in front of Pete’s side of the
vanity would be a nice way to wish his baby well. He braced his hands on the cool, marble
counter, and pressed forward, planting a carefully measured kiss to the mirror where he
thought Pete’s left dimple would just about when he looked into his reflection. Drawing back,
Vegas brought the lipstick up again, and with a few quick swipes, scrawled a brief message
for Pete to find.

Kiss for a kiss?

He put away the lipstick, grabbing some tissue and wiping his mouth as he snuck quietly off
to start his day.

Throughout the day he checked his phone, disappointed every time to find no message from
Pete waiting for him about the kiss. There was no mention of it at dinner, nor as they lay
together that night.

The next morning however, as Vegas stood before his mirror, once again dragging his razor
along the stubble on his face, fuck maybe Pete was on to something why did his hair grow so
fast, he watched Pete enter the bathroom behind him in the mirror. For a moment, Pete just
stood there, then he was coming to stand behind Vegas, leaning forward to rest his chin
against Vegas’s shoulder.

“Let me, please, Khun Vegas.”

Vegas smiled, lowering his straight razor before turning wordless in Pete’s arms, reclining
back against the counter as he presented Pete with the razor. This wasn’t an uncommon
request, during his recovery it become a favorite activity of his, letting Pete perch in his lap
and drag the sharpened razor along his skin, devout in his service.

Vegas let Pete tilt his head, side to side, eyes slipping closed as they went through the
soothing, familiar motions. The only sounds the soft schick of the razor against his skin, and
the clicking of the bottles of after shave and moisturizer Pete rubbed reverently into his skin.

Pete finished with a kiss to the corner of his mouth, and when Vegas opened his eyes, about
to lean in and return the favor, he was met with the sight of Pete already halfway out the
bathroom door.

Vegas scowled, about to turn and chase after Pete, maybe pin him against the doorframe and
demand a proper kiss, but he didn’t have a great deal of time, and he still needed to style his
hair. He huffed, admittedly petulant with no one around to witness it, then turned to the
mirror again, only to stop short at the sight that met him. He swallowed hard, his whole-body
tingling with the overwhelming and nearly unbearable feeling that he was loved spreading
through him like a burning fire.

There, at the corner of his mouth, sat Pete’s kiss, outlined in perfect, pretty, coral pink.

Vegas gripped the counter so hard his knuckles turned white, bowing his head as he tried to
collect himself, his whole world thrown off kilter with the desire to chase Pete down and
ravish him in kisses.

They still didn’t talk about it, and Vegas never saw Pete with the lipstick on over the next few
days. But he found more kisses, hidden for him to find like an unbearably sexy scavenger
hunt.
An orange kiss on the rim of his morning coffee.

A blood red kiss on the side of his beretta when he went to holster it before a deal.

A hot pink kiss on the bookmark he was using for his pre-bed reading.

A burgundy kiss on the framed photo of them on his desk, taken at Macau’s graduation party.

A variety of kisses, all in different colors, taunting him.

Come get me.

Vegas would be lucky if he made it to forty without his heart giving out from the
overwhelming, all-encompassing warmth of Pete’s love.

Each kiss called out to him, come find me, come taste me, but Vegas didn’t want to rush. He
wanted to plan his next steps carefully. This wasn’t a short, passing fantasy to be indulged in.
This was about Pete, about helping his puppy finally feel safe and beautiful and loved. He
needed a plan, and fast, however. The last the thing he wanted was Pete losing confidence
because Vegas took too long.

To buy himself time, Vegas picked up his coffee cup, his beretta, his bookmark, the picture
frame, and looked straight into Pete’s eyes as he pressed his own lips to each kiss mark.

There was a time in Vegas’s life where there was nothing more important to him than pouring
all his blood and sweat into his work. Illness, injury, nothing could tip the scale when
weighed against work. The only exception to the rule was Macau, and even then, it had to be
something considerably important for Vegas to tear himself away from whatever task he had
been given in the never ending battle to prove his worth to a worthless man.

For Pete, however, work could burn in hell.

So while it was once unthinkable, Vegas found himself clearing an entire day on his schedule,
dedicated just to unleashing the full force of his soft and gooey desire to pamper his puppy.

But he had to plan. To carefully craft and prepare everything so that his puppy could receive
the love and affection he deserved.

Vegas needed to be absolutely meticulous in his preparations, and several afternoons and
mornings were dedicated to sneaking off and making arrangements without Pete knowing.

Which is how Vegas ended up with his younger brother pinned beneath him on Macau’s
bedroom floor, Macau’s phone clutched between Vegas’s fingers and held high into the air.

“Give me back my phone, Hia!”

“Help me or I’ll confiscate it for a month!”

Since he was ten, Vegas had spent many nights with his sheets drawn over his head, a
flashlight balanced precariously on his shoulder as he pored over parenting books. His
philosophy that if he wasn’t going to have a good parent, he would damn well do everything
in his power to ensure Macau had the closest thing to a good parental figure Vegas could
provide.

He knew that threatening to take your child’s phone to force them to help you prepare a
surprise for the love of your life was nowhere in any of those books and was, in fact,
probably firmly discouraged.
But unfortunately for Macau, Vegas was a pseudo parent second, and an older brother first.

“Hia! You can’t just come into my room and threaten to take away my phone to get me to do
some weird, ominous favor you won’t explain. I’m an adult now! I’ll just buy a new one
myself.” Macau stopped trying to aim a hit for Vegas’s balls and instead flopped over
dramatically as he began to attempt to army crawl away, grumbling all the while.

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fu-

“if you don’t help me, I’ll tell Chay you tried to put a hit on Porsche for the koi pond
incident.”

Macau froze, his head slowly turning to face his brother, eyes wide.

Young love, so adorable.

So easy to manipulate.

“Please tell me this is not a sex thing.”

Vegas snorted as Macau whined, pausing the youtube video he had pulled up on his iPad and
picking up an eyeshadow palette from his carefully organized spread of cosmetics. He flipped
open the cover, examining the colors and imagining the deep, rich brown of Pete’s eyes.

“Yes and no.”

No, because this was about showing Pete how beautiful he was. About smothering him in
love until he could never possibly doubt again how stunning and delectable Vegas found him.
It was about giving him every single thing he never felt he had the right to ask for.
Yes because, damn, if it didn’t do something to Vegas to picture those kitten eyes dripping
mascara tears.

“Grooooss, Hia!”

Carefully selecting the “all-over” eyeshadow brush and not the crease brush this time, Vegas
dipped the brush carefully into the soft beige of the “base color” as he hummed in response.

“Why can’t you practice this on yourself?”

“Because I need to know how to do it on someone else now shut up and close your eyes.”

With an artful flick of his wrist that had the brush tapping to the palette, excess powder flew
directly into Macau’s face, who spluttered and finally closed his eyes; Vegas got to work.

On Saturday, Vegas has bribed Porsche to take Pete for an early morning workout.

Wear him out. But. No. Boxing. No sparring. Nothing that will leave him bruised. Vegas had
texted adamantly, rolling his eyes when Porsche sends him two thumbs up emojis and, for
some reason, a picture of a kitten wearing a sweatband.

How the fuck did someone who texts cat photos take my job.

Two hours later, when he had texted to ask Pete how the workout was going, Pete sent him
back a photo of a cat falling asleep in its food bowl, and Vegas’s heart melted.

I’m going to marry you and we’ll raise a family of kittens together.
While Pete was gone, he had showered and put on his favorite shirt, the black, astrological
patterned one he wore the first time he got to cup that firm, juicy bottom for the first time.

His lucky shirt, if you will.

Then he set about preparing everything so it was discretely tucked out of Pete’s immediate
line of sight but would be readily and easily accessible.

When Pete arrived home, Vegas led him straight for the shower, drawing on every bit of
patience and inner strength to resist the urge to let his tongue trace the sweat glistening along
Pete’s collarbones. Pete went willingly, soft and sweet on the endorphin rush he always got
after a hard workout, nose wrinkling petulantly when Vegas refused to join him in the
shower. He got a swat to his thigh for his brattiness, and strict orders to come meet Vegas in
the walk-in closet when he was ready.

Vegas strolled his way to their walk-in, humming to himself as he went. When he got to the
closet, what Pete called the “rich people room for dressing”, he stopped to take in the changes
he had made.

He had pared down some of his wardrobe, moved clothes he only wore for travel abroad to
storage, and neatly divided the closet into two, perfectly symmetrical, sections. His clothes to
the right, the same side of the bed he slept on, and Pete’s to the left. When he first started,
Pete’s side had been nearly empty. But now, now it was overflowing with an assortment of
carefully cultivated fashions.

The lighting of the room had been dimmed, and candles flickered around the mirror. The
counters of the room were overflowing with an assortment of vibrant flowers: hibiscus
blooms, peonies, ginger lilies. And resting on top of a velvet box on the table beside the
chaise, a single lotus.

Vegas paused to admire his handiwork, then strode over to their velvet chaise, reclining
against it as he waited.
When Pete walked in minutes later, towel-drying his hair and stark naked, Vegas wasn’t
disappointed by the look of shock that crossed Pete’s features, the towel falling from his
hands.

“What the fuck.”

Pete surveyed the room around them, completely still as his mouth hung open. Vegas used
Pete’s shock to his advantage, standing to cross the room and pull the door behind Pete shut
with a loud snap of the lock.

A beat of silence stretched between them. Folding his arms, Vegas turned to lean against the
door and observe Pete. His puppy was trembling, fists clenched at his sides tightly, the line of
his glorious shoulders tight and tensed. He couldn’t see Pete’s face from behind him, but he
didn’t need to.

Scared puppies bite.

That’s all Pete was in the grand scheme of things. A sweet little puppy, desperate for a home,
desperate to be a good, obedient boy. But he had been abused, lost on the streets, told he was
worth nothing when he deserved to hear he was the universe. And now he was scared—
scared to let himself want, to let himself have, to let himself ask and hope for fear of the hand
snatching back the coveted gift, the belt striking down, the booming laughter for thinking he
could ever deserve treats.

It was easy for Pete to accept the part of the dynamic between them where he was owned. He
was infallibly loyal, could give himself to a master that would keep him and would never ask
for anything for fear of losing his home. It was easy for him to be good and serve.

But it was hard for him to accept that he could ever deserve anything more in return.

Vegas knew Pete loved him. But sometimes he feared that Pete didn’t quite grasp just how
much Vegas loved him.
Vegas was obsessed, sure. That was obvious to the entire world. But he was only obsessed to
this degree because he loved Pete. He only knew how to love on one speed; the only thing he
could give to prove Pete was his was everything.

Let it out. Let me pick up all your pieces and put you back together.

“Vegas! What the fuck!” Pete’s voice was strained, and Vegas watched the trembling line of
his shoulders, waiting for the inevitable snap. He thought Pete would lash out, unleash all the
self-loathing by picking up something and throwing it, by grabbing to break anything the way
he was broken.

The way Vegas would have.

Instead, Vegas felt the world around him crumble as Pete inhaled suddenly and let out a
scream so mournful he was thrown back to a moment that simultaneously haunted his dreams
and was his greatest source of comfort. The only time in his life that he had ever felt loved,
when Pete’s warm body had pressed against his as he howled with the rawest pain Vegas had
ever heard simply because Pete feared losing him.

Pete crumpled, just like he did then, sinking to the floor as he ran his fingers into his hair,
grasping at the strands and pulling. Vegas took two, hesitant steps forward, stomach tensing
as he waited for the hit he expected to come. For Pete, he would take it. For Pete, he would
take as many hits as he needed until Pete felt better.

“Pete-“

“What do you want from me?” Pete sobbed, curling into himself tightly. “Why are you doing
this? Is this funny to you? Has this been a joke?”

Pete’s arms slid over his head, blocking his face out as he trembled. He sobbed once, before
his hands slid down to press tightly against his mouth, eyes closed into tight crescents like
they would if he were smiling. Vegas didn’t think he would ever not like to see that shape.
“This isn’t funny,” Pete sobbed quietly into his hands. All of the fight Vegas had expected,
the fire, the anger, was gone, and instead his sweet baby was trembling, curled up
protectively around himself.

Hiding.

Vegas fell to his knees behind Pete, wrapping him up tightly into a hug and pressing his face
into the top of Pete’s shoulder. He held on tight as Pete tried to squirm away, yanking his
puppy back against his chest as he shushed him quietly.

“You know better, Pete.” He murmured softly as he turned his head to kiss at Pete’s ear, arms
squeezing the air from Pete’s lungs as he rocked them slightly, “you know I’m not joking. We
talked about this. Be my good boy; don’t fight me.”

Pete struggled again, just a brief moment where Vegas worried that Pete would break free,
before he went limp, a long, mournful sound bubbling up from his throat.

“Talk to me, baby. Tell me. Tell me why it hurts.”

“I don’t- I don’t deserve this Vegas. I told you before. The lipstick…that’s one thing. Only
you see it and when other people see the marks… they won’t think they’re mine. No one
would ever think they would be mine. But I would know at least. But this. All these … all
these clothes they’re going to-“

Pete swallowed thickly, tilting his head to finally look into Vegas’s eyes.

“They’re going to laugh. They’re going to laugh at you, Vegas. Not just me. They already
laugh at you! You keep me around even though you deserve someone so much prettier and
they laugh because you say-you say in front of them that I’m pretty like you’ve gone insane!
They’ll laugh at you even more for spending your money to dress up a dog. I know they’ll
laugh at me. I can bear that. I can bear that I’m ugly and for some reason you seem not to be
able to see it. But I can’t—I don’t want anyone to ever laugh at you. They’re going to think—
they’ll see it as a weakness to exploit when I’m not- I’m not worth this! You’re mine now.
I’m supposed to protect you.”
Vegas watched a tear roll down Pete’s cheek, a tear shed for him, and felt deeply inadequate.

Something clenched within his chest, a tight ball of hot, raw fury that dug its claws into his
heart and squeezed so tightly that he realized with a start that he was crying as well, tears
streaming down his face as he pulled Pete impossibly close against him.

“Pete…no one is ever going to laugh at either of us. You protect me, puppy, but I also protect
you, even from yourself. You silly, silly, baby. We talked about this, and I’m going to do
everything I can, I’m not going to stop, until you finally get it through your thick head that
you are so, so beautiful. I bought all of this because you deserve it baby, because every
morning I want to wake up and eat you alive, dress you up like the pretty boy you are, and eat
you all over again. Stop fighting me, Pete. Don’t you trust me?”

Vegas leaned forward, letting their foreheads knock together as he reached one hand up to
wipe Pete’s lovely, impossibly soft cheeks. He watched as those divine lips trembled, Pete’s
eyes flicking all across his face in what he knew was a search for any hint of a lie.

“You know, Pete. You’ve been such a naughty, bad boy. You know better than to argue with
me, than to not listen to me when I tell you something. My forgetful boy. How many times do
I need to sit you down and teach you that I know you. I know what’s best for you. How many
times until you learn how to listen?”

Vegas reached out, grasping around Pete’s throat and squeezing tight until he saw Pete’s
eyelashes flutter and his eyes soften around the edges. Pete’s hand came up, clutching tightly
against his not to try to pry him away, but to squeeze tightly down on Vegas’s own.

“I’ve got you, puppy.”

He squeezed tighter, holding on for a few tense moments until he released and Pete inhaled
sharply, shaking all over. Vegas leaned in to press kiss after kiss to his face, tongue flicking
out to drag along each tear track before he stood, his hand going to grip Pete’s hair tightly.
“Come on puppy, you’ve been a bad boy. I need to teach you your lesson. Let’s go now. To
the chaise. You’re going to sit pretty and learn your lesson like the silly little puppy you are.”
He made the words mean and condescending, dripping cloyingly in the way he knew Pete
loved. Sometimes it was easier for Pete to accept love when it humiliated him, when he felt
like he had earned it through punishment. Vegas could work with that.

Pete started to stand, but Vegas used his grip on his hair to force down hard, holding Pete to
the floor as he hissed.

“Ah, ah. Puppies don’t stand. Now crawl. Come on, let me see you crawl like a good boy.”

Pete sniffed, looking up at Vegas through teary lashes before he nodded, dropping his head as
began to crawl, towel long forgotten on the floor. Vegas kept his grip tight in Pete’s hair, a
temporary leash as he followed along. When they got to the chaise, Pete gazed up at him, a
well-trained pet waiting for permission when Vegas gave him a nod, he climbed up onto the
chaise, a clumsy, eager little thing.

Pete got into position, well familiar by now with exactly how he should position himself: face
to the cushion, knees spread wide apart, ass in the air, and arms behind his back, one hand
grasping each elbow. His eyes slid closed, the tremors in his body receding a bit at the
prospect of familiar territory.

Vegas picked up a hairbrush from the nearby table, giving it a tap, once, twice, to Pete’s
thigh. Pete, his beautiful, sweet little thing, sighed in relief, the broad width of the brush a
familiar and comforting presence. He wants you to hurt him because he thinks he deserves it.

There was a fine line in their relationship; the knife’s edge between pain for the sake of
pleasure and pain because it was a coping tool.

Vegas rolled his shoulders, one hand reaching out to smooth slowly along Pete’s hip bone,
“tell me why you’re being punished, pet.”

Pete’s eyes blinked open and Vegas saw it, the confusion flicking across Pete’s face as
grasped at straws in his mind. His lips parted, then closed, a few times, and Vegas saw the
tears, pearling in the corners of his puppy’s eyes again. How many times in his life had Pete
taken beating after beating, knelt for hours on grains of rice, crawled across the floor with his
arms bound, not because he understood any mistake that he had made but because he thought
he was at his very core wrong and deserving of any punishment offered to him.

“Because I-…because… I deserve it?”

Vegas shook his head, fingers stroking along Pete’s hip idly.

“No, silly little goose,” Vegas tried to repress a smile when Pete scowled at him when he
used that special, sweet voice again, “goodness here I thought I had trained my pet well. I’m
not disappointed though, my sweet boy. You can’t help you didn’t have me before to break all
these bad habits. Can’t help you’re always a little too cock drunk now that my lessons never
really stick hmm?”

Vegas let the hair brush tap slowly against Pete’s outer thigh, exhaling slowly as he watched
the muscle twitch.

“No, pretty, you’re being punished because you didn’t listen to me like a good boy. You
didn’t learn your lesson last time that you are a good, beautiful, boy. You’re my good,
beautiful, boy.”

Pete’s thighs went tense, and he turned his head quickly away from Vegas at the words; the
tremble returning to his shoulders. Vegas reached out to grasp harshly at the back of Pete’s
hair, yanking his head up hard.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

Vegas waited, his stomach clenching tightly until Pete finally acquiesced and turned back to
him, his eyes two, dark, glittering pools that Vegas wanted to dive headfirst into and drown.
“I won’t stand for it anymore. From today onward, you will never call yourself a bad name
again. You will never, ever, say that you aren’t beautiful again, that you don’t deserve
something. From today onward you will wake up by my side every morning, look in the
mirror, and you will know you are my beautiful, breathtaking boy. I don’t care how many
times I have to repeat this lesson with you, but I will never let it slide again. You will always,
always find yourself right back here when you slip up.”

He leaned forward, letting his lips run slowly up along each bump of Pete’s spine, savouring
the taste of home beneath his lips.

“And it’s a lesson I will always be happy to teach you.”

Vegas stood up, smiling as he watched Pete’s eyes slipped close again, his hips wiggling
slightly, perhaps subconsciously, as he waited for the first hit to come. Pete loved the
hairbrush, they had used it time and time again, the wide, hard back of it leaving swaths of
purple and blue bruises, the bristles biting deep into Pete’s skin.

Vegas lifted his hand, letting the brush swing back in a way that displaced the air with a
whistle.

Then brought it down to slowly, gently, tenderly stroke through Pete’s still damp hair.

Pete’s eyes snapped open, and when he went to snap up Vegas brought his other hand down
hard between his shoulder blades, pinning him into place as he continued brushing.

“Vegas what are you-“

“Shhhh silly baby. I’m grooming my pretty puppy. Just lie still for me.”

“Vegas, what the fuck! You said you would punish me!”
Pete’s body was rigid beneath him, a spooked little animal ready to bolt. Vegas pressed the
thumb of his finger hard into a knot he knew was in Pete’s upper back, smiling when Pete’s
body jolted and then went limp as it was massaged, temporarily caught off guard. His other
hand kept brushing, before he teasingly ran the bristles of the brush down Pete’s back,
watching a line of goosebumps follow its path.

“Mm, I did. But you want me to punish you in the way you want. You don’t get to decide
those things. I decide what you deserve. I decide your punishments. And today’s punishment
is you’re going to hold still while I groom you.”

Pete turned his head to scowl directly at him, and Vegas saw the fight beginning to brew
under the surface.

“And what if I don’t let you?”

Vegas shrugged, as though the threat, the thought that Pete, who deserved the world, might
storm out and run, didn’t bother him. He looked up at Pete and gave his most serene smile.

“Then no cummies for the naughty puppy.”

Pete’s mouth dropped open before he snorted in incredulity, a shadow of a smile flickering
across his face for just a brief moment, before he was turning to press his face into the chaise
cushion. The emotional whiplash he was giving Pete seemed to be draining the fight out of
him.

“Stop trying to say that stupid word with such a straight face.”

“As long as it makes you blush like that and smile, I’m going to keep saying it. It’ll be in our
wedding vows: my puppy is so beautiful, I promise to give him all the rubbies and cummies
and spankies.”
Pete groaned in exasperation, mumbling something into the cushion that sounded like a lot
like didn’t give me any damn spankies today, but Vegas felt smug as he saw him relax, little
by little. They were quiet for a long moment as Vegas brushed, occasionally running the
brush through Pete’s hair, occasionally down his back just to tease.

Vegas brushed until he was satisfied, then moved forward to grasp Pete’s hips, massaging
into them slowly before he began to knead his hands up and down Pete’s back, trying to work
out any remaining tension in his muscles.

“Pete, baby, you’re not going to like what I have planned next. But I got you something I
think might help. Can you sit up for me?”

Pete turned to look at him warily, before he sighed and slowly sat up, folding his legs beneath
him like a good boy. With Pete on the chaise and Vegas standing, they were at the perfect
height for Vegas to swoop down and deposit a kiss to Pete’s forehead. He reached over to
pick up the velvet box beneath the lotus, swatting at Pete’s hand as tried to reach for it.

“Puppies can’t open things without their owner’s help.”

Vegas ignored the huff he got in response, picking up the lotus to admire it before he placed it
aside and opened the box with a snap of the lid.

“Show me your neck.”

Pete tilted his head back without question, and Vegas couldn’t help but take a moment to
appreciate the smooth expanse of skin before him, his teeth itching with the urge to bite.

Instead, he reached into the box to remove the chocker inside, three strands of pearls woven
tightly together, with a single golden tag dropping from the middle, pretty, engraved in
Vegas’s own handwriting.
 “A special collar for you baby. You’re going to wear this every single day, so that you can’t
ever forget for even a second what you are to me.”

Pete’s mouth dropped open, and Vegas saw the protest coming, so he fastened the choker
tight to Pete’s neck, before he was grasping him by the throat with both hands, his thumbs
pressing beneath Pete’s jaw to tilt his head back.

“Now, now, puppy. Don’t waste your time trying to fight anymore. We’re only just getting
started.”

Chapter End Notes

So next time, we'll get into the spoiling hardcore. I wanted to ask if people would prefer
to see this from Vegas's perspectives or for Pete's? Personally, i'm leaning toward Pete
because I think it would add a lot more depth to the story, but I'm also open to what
people want?

Oh shit, adding an edit cause I totally forgot to mention: the lipsticks are YSL if anyone
was curious. Those packages are hard af to describe
 Chapter 8
Chapter Summary

“You think I’m pretty, Khun Vegas?” Pete smiled at the ceiling, leaning back to prop
himself up on his elbows on the chaise, tilting his head to the side so he could get his
eyes back on Vegas, lashes heavy with tears that belonged to Vegas. He kept his throat
elongated, letting the weight of the pearls pressed to his pulse keep him tethered –so that
the pulsing needy darkness inside of him didn’t pull him along with it—send him
floating away into the stars entirely.

“Show me I’m pretty.”

Chapter Notes

It's a long weekend so i'm going to try and post two chapters this weekend to try and
make up for the slow pace I'm taking with this story (and the fact updates may be
delayed as I get swamped at work). I've actually decided for this chapter and the next
I'm going to do perspective switches to give the full picture of what's going through both
of their minds. On the one hand because I personally enjoy thinking from both sides but
on the other because I almost feel like it's necessary to really tell the story?

I don't know how i went from "gonna write some smut" to being drowned in a bunch of
emotional plot with smut sprinkled about but here we are lads.

As always, thank you so much to everyone for the comments! You are all lovely and
supportive as I crack open my brain and pour out all this deranged filth.

Sometimes, when Vegas looked at him Pete felt like his own heart was breaking. Like a hand
was reaching down into his throat to squeeze so tightly that the air was pushed from his lungs
and his blood stopped pumping.

Vegas was such a beautiful man. Others might say he was handsome, and that was certainly,
undeniably true. But Pete thought that Vegas was better described as devastatingly,
breathtakingly beautiful. The lines of his sharp jaw, his sharper eyes, felt like they cut into
Pete when the full force of that beauty turned to him. Vegas had all the lethal beauty of a
predator, and a charming, honey sweet mouth to lure in his prey.
Vegas, with his regal poise, elegant in the way he trapped prey between his teeth, picked the
meat clean from their bones and filled his glass with their blood, somehow made even the
most gruesome, prolonged death beautiful in his hands. He was an artist.

He was a king.

He deserved to be surrounded by beautiful things to fit the level of beauty he gifted to the
world.

His downfall was that he was too blind to realize Pete would never be able to give him what
he deserved.

So when he turned those piercing eyes onto Pete and they went soft, like Pete was some
precious sight, his prized treasure amongst all the fine things he had ever had, Pete felt like
an absolute failure.

You shouldn’t have chosen me.

You should punish me.

Hit me.

Beat me.

Make me pay for not being beautiful enough for you.

If Vegas could just punish him, he would feel a bit better, a bit more like he brought some
modicum of value into Vegas’s life.
Pete was just a silly, broken boy with nothing to give but his service.

Pete could take punishments--could hold still as he Vegas’s warm hands held him down
beneath cold water, deciding when and how he got air into his lungs. He could take hit after
hit of a belt, keep his head up as Vegas beat him until his arms were too tired to go on. Pete
could stand stock straight for hours on end, fighting fatigue and the pain in his feet and the
desperate urge to piss like any human would.

Because at his core Pete had stopped being human a long time ago, if he ever had been.

He was nothing more than an animal, a toy, a tool now.

But this punishment, being treated like something that he wasn’t and never would be, was
unbearable.

Vegas was looking at him now and it was excruciating to hold the weight of his gaze as Vegas
reached forward, cupped his cheeks like he was something small and special to be held. Pete
felt the tears welling back into his eyes and he hated this; he had never cried much, had
learned long ago tears were wasted, but it felt like Vegas had reached into his very soul and
unblocked the dam Pete had constructed.

My tears, they belong to you too.

Pete let the tears fall, willing to allow Vegas to own them but ashamed that something so
simple as being held made him cry like the child he felt like he had never been. He let his
head fall forward as Vegas stepped closer to him, let it press into the opening of Vegas’s shirt,
against the warm skin of his chest. Vegas’s hands slid down from his cheeks, through his hair,
and he was cradled in the softest embrace he could ever remember receiving.

The weight of the pearls linked around his neck was heavy with a claim he didn’t deserve.
“Silly boy,” Vegas breathed as he pressed a kiss to the crown of his head and oh Pete felt the
ravenous pit inside of him roar at the cooing voice Vegas used only for him.

Want want want want.

Own me-claim me-need me-devour me.

Yes, he wanted to scream, yes, I’m your silly boy. Let me be your silly boy please, let this be
real.

It was embarrassing, how just a simple kiss to his head and teasing words made his tummy
flip and his fingers shake with the urge to grab Vegas and pull him so close they merged
together, body and blood, to hide Vegas and lock him away inside of the safety of his own
heart so he never had to share, never had to fear losing him to someone better.

“Speak, puppy. Tell me what’s in that pretty, silly, head.”

Pete choked, the word, you, expanding in his throat and catching on his tears. He pushed
forward into Vegas, turning his head so his ear could press against Vegas’s heart and listen to
the steady thrum. He snaked his arms out around Vegas’s narrow waist, pulling him so close
that it hurt, the pain not enough to ground him. The aching, dark, monstrous pit inside of him
was screaming, expanding within him, threatening to burst out as he was consumed and burnt
up from the inside-

Need you needyouneedyouneedyoune-

His mouth fell open starvingfeedmeneedyou as Vegas yanked his head back, and when
Vegas’s mouth pressed to his he swore the blood in his veins sizzled as the burning,
throbbing, need was soothed. He could hear his own, whining moan, but didn’t care, his
fingers sliding down from Vegas’s narrow waist to claw into his even narrower hips, like a
man’s body should be, you disproportionate fuck, you’ve got thick hips like a girl but your
shoulders are broad, if you think anyone would fuck you, you better stick that fat ass out and
bend over so they can’t see your-
The voices in his head went blissfully silent as Vegas’s teeth carved into the tip of his tongue,
the comforting suction against the wound that followed causing his toes to curl. He let out an
honest growl as those lips retreated, chasing after them as he tried to bite at Vegas’s lower lip
to satisfy his own hunger. He just barely managed to catch it, just for a brief moment, and the
pinch he got to the tender shell of his ear soothed his disappointment as it slipped from
between his teeth.

“Puppy. Don’t be naughty; I told you to speak.”

His head was positively swimming, thoughts flickering back and forth and when he tried to
grasp on to them to present them to Vegas for inspection, like a good boy, they just slipped
through his grasp.

Taste you-I’m so fucking ugly-tasteyou-worthless-need you-don’t wasteyourtime I’m nothing-

please don’t go-notenough- I will always drag you back if you try to leave-

His ear was pinched tighter; Vegas breath warm against the sensitive skin as he leaned
forward, pressing his head against Pete’s. He gave Pete’s head a few, teasing shakes.

“Everything in this silly, pretty, little head belongs to me, baby. Now tell me. Don’t worry
about it—I know it’s messy in there my pretty boy. Just let me inside and I’ll take care of
you. A good owner tidies up their pet’s messes.”

Pete moaned, a long, mournful sound. Why was he fighting? What was there to be afraid of?
Vegas saw him; Vegas had seen him and was still there. Wasn’t this how it worked between
them? Wasn’t it just so much easier to roll over and give everything up to Vegas, let him in so
he could make it all better. His suffering belonged to Vegas; if this was what he wanted, then
who was Pete to fight?

He swallowed, turning his head to seek out Vegas’s gaze. When their eyes met, the weight of
that gaze no longer felt so suffocating. Instead, he saw himself reflected, for the first time, to
the full extent the way Vegas truly saw him.
Precious.

“I love you,” he said-quiet, once, then louder, then louder again and he was laughing and
sobbing all at once, sliding his hands up the smooth, warmth of Vegas’s back to crush him
close. He felt light, he felt hysterical.

What does it matter—what does it matter?

Just a dumb puppy, empty head-what do you know-

Khun Vegas knows what you’re worth to him.

“It doesn’t-“he gasped aloud, leaning in to press his teeth into Vegas’s shoulder and bite.

Gonna mark you-only mine-only mine-

“Doesn’t matter…what anyone else thinks…”

Vegas jolted beneath him, muscles flexing and Pete giggled in bliss as tears spilled over his
lash line, teeth digging in to the meat of Vegas’s firm muscle before releasing.

“Only you”

Only you-you, you you youyouyouyou you

You are everything

Love me loveme loveme please love me

“Need you.”

Pete brought his hands up to push Vegas hard sending him stumbling back a few steps as he
threw his head back, dragging his palms across his face to wipe away the tears. The aching
need inside of him expanded, pressing against his rib cage, clawing its way up his throat,
pressing against his teeth.

Feel so fucking alive don’t leave me

If you go I’ll find you-I’ll fucking find you-chain you up-chain you to the fucking ceiling
this time-use you, rideyou biteyouownyoueatyou-mine

“Pete-- what the fuck”

“You think I’m pretty, Khun Vegas?” Pete smiled at the ceiling, leaning back to prop himself
up on his elbows on the chaise, tilting his head to the side so he could get his eyes back on
Vegas, lashes heavy with tears that belonged to Vegas. He kept his throat elongated, letting
the weight of the pearls pressed to his pulse keep him tethered –so that the pulsing needy
darkness inside of him didn’t pull him along with it—send him floating away into the stars
entirely.

“Show me I’m pretty.”

Pete was truly the most remarkable being Vegas had ever met. Even now, as he sat still and
pretty, his eyes glossed as they gazed up at Vegas adoringly –Vegas couldn’t help but feel he
had somehow cheated the universe by being as remarkably rotten as he was inside but getting
to have Pete all to himself.
He ruined everything he touched, leaving an indelible stain that would haunt for lifetimes.

But somehow, Pete only seemed brighter, more beautiful under his hand.

When Vegas yanked back his stained hand, afraid to touch Pete for fear he would absolutely
ruin him, it was Pete that would reach out, grasp onto him tightly and pull him in, licking his
marred hand clean as though the stain on Vegas’s soul was a divine offering.

Vegas wanted to keep it that way. While he may call Pete pet and puppy and order him
around, everything he did was in devout service to his love.

Vegas knew well that while Pete outwardly appeared the more well-adjusted of the both of
them, more reliable, more stable, he was just better at hiding the jagged pieces of himself.
Pete would gladly hold onto his pain forever because he was just a silly, broken boy who
thought he deserved it. Vegas was not going to allow that to happen any longer.

“Here’s how this will work, beautiful. All of these clothes are yours. Every morning, I’ll get
my pretty boy dressed for the world from this section you see here. Only the best, so I can
show you off like the delicious little treat you are.” Vegas brandished his hand as he walked
along Pete’s half of the closet, aware of Pete’s heavy gaze from where he was still reclined,
watching him, “but every night, when our door closes, I’m going to strip you down. Take you
to our bath to scrub you clean and spoil you with bubble baths. And dress you up from this
section. I’m saving the best of the best for my eyes only. You’re not a lost little thing on the
street anymore puppy, you’re mine now. And you’re going to live the life of a spoiled house
pet, just like you’ve always deserved.”

He let his fingers run along the fabrics in what would be his favorite section, grasping at a
few pieces and sliding them along the rack as he began to admire the selection.

“It’s new, and it’s scary, my sweet boy, I know. So today, we’ll start with something a bit
simple and familiar to you.”
He began to gather up what he needed, smiling to himself as he felt Pete’s gaze never once
leave his back. He turned and took in the long expanse of limbs stretched across the chaise,
losing himself in the curved lines of Pete’s adorable knees, up along the creamiest thighs he
had ever tasted, the sloping lines of his soft hips. Vegas had to take a deep breath, ground
himself and remind himself of his plan, before he continued, coming to stand before Pete as
he deposited what he brought beside them. When Pete’s fingers skittered to reach for the
fabric, he brought his hand down hard onto the back of Pete’s.

“Ah ah. Puppies don’t dress themselves. Now sit up. Sit still.”

Vegas cooed gently as Pete complied, just admiring the sight of such an adoring, pretty boy
gazing up at him with teary eyes, before he was reaching for a box he had left on the side
table. He grasped Pete’s chin, tilting his head back and swooping in to pepper kisses all along
his soft, wet cheeks, nibbling gently at one to tease and distract. Pete laughed, ticklish when
he was relaxed, trying to squirm away, before he gasped as Vegas grabbed his ear, sliding the
post of an earring into one before fixing the backing to it with a click.

“Xóy!” Pete whined, hand flying up to rub at the tender skin. He didn’t wear his earrings
often, Vegas had secretly tossed the cheap monstrosities when he had redone the closet, and
Vegas knew that when he did slide earrings in, the holes were a bit sensitive. Pete blinked in
confusion when his palm cupped the earring, and Vegas merely grinned as he held up the
twin, dangling it in front of Pete’s face just to watch his eyes cross cutely.

“Pretty pearls to match your pretty collar baby.”

And they were pretty, three freshwater pearls on a delicate gold chain that Vegas knew would
sway beautifully as he fucked into Pete from behind, as Pete bounced on his cock as he rode
him, as he writhed beneath him, pinned to the sheets and sobbing in pleasure.

Pretty pearls for my little pearl.

Vegas swallowed as his mouth watered, picturing how well the pearls would pair with his
own cum streaked across Pete’s face. His hands shook a bit as he slid the other earring into
place. Pete turned his head to try and peer around Vegas and into the mirror, but Vegas was
faster, yanking his head back by grasping an earring and giving just the gentlest of pulls, a
new and very effective way of guiding Pete around.
“Not until we’re done getting you ready.”

Pete glanced up at him, looking a bit wary, before he nodded.

“Eyes closed, baby.”

Pete was compliant as he set to work, holding perfectly still as Vegas dotted lotion against his
cheeks and began to massage it in, fingers tracing along a careful route of a massage he had
been practicing. Pete jolted slightly before exhaling a soft, surprised moan as fingers dug into
the tender pressure points of his forehead.

“Yeah? That feel good, pretty boy?”

Vegas gave a smile as he kept rubbing, leaning down to steal a few soft kisses that had Pete
reaching out without permission, fingers curling into the skin of Vegas’s hips. He let it slide,
hoping that it brought Pete comfort to have him to hold on to.

He kept going for a bit longer than necessary as he felt Pete relax beneath him, just to spoil
his baby, before he was reaching for a discrete makeup bag he had prepared, setting to work.

He’ll get nervous if you take too long. Go quickly. It’s just something simple. You can do this
for him.

Vegas worked swiftly and efficiently, chastising softly every time Pete tried to open his eyes.
He stayed silent otherwise, dipping brushes into powders and dragging a mascara wand very
carefully down the slope of Pete’s fine eyelashes. Pete’s fingers flexed every now and then
against the muscles of his hips, and he couldn’t help but roll his eyes fondly as one of Pete’s
hands began to sneak inward toward the button of his pants, plucking against it innocently
until it slid through the opening.
“Did I say you could have your treats, puppy?”

“He needs to stop calling his dick my treats.” He heard Pete mumble to himself, and he
retaliated for the little jab by reaching up to ruffle Pete’s nearly dried hair.

“Almost done with this part, baby. Later you can drool and slobber all over your favorite
chew toy all you want.”

Pete snorted in response, and Vegas knew if his eyes were open, they would have rolled.

He stepped back a bit, just enough to admire what he had done while still allowing for Pete to
hold on to his hips. He had dusted Pete’s eyes with neutral bowns and beiges, to add depth
and play with the natural shape of his eye, elongating it at the outer corner. He used a darker
shade close to the lash line of the upper and lower lid to give a more sultry, sexy effect,
foregoing eyeliner for now, but adding plenty of mascara to define Pete’s lashes. He had
dusted a soft, peachy blush high along Pete’s cheekbones and just very lightly to the tip of his
nose; he would admit guiltily, not for Pete, but because somehow the innocent color
somehow strikingly reminded him of the shade Pete would turn when Vegas had his hands
around his throat, controlling when and how Pete got air.

For the final touch, he picked up a tube of lipstick in the same shade as the blush, and with
quick, even strokes, applied it to the center of Pete’s lips, before blending outward with his
fingers for a carefully practiced, doll-like effect.

When he took Pete’s beautiful face in, from his adorable button-nose, flush with pink like it
got when he was sobbing as he choked himself eagerly on Vegas’s cock, to his pretty, pouting
mouth as he held perfectly still, a mouth Vegas knew would be soft and almost sticky against
his own, my messy little baby, Vegas had to reach down and grasp hard at himself, shifting his
rapidly growing erection to relieve some of the pressure as it pressed against his zipper.

“Keep your eyes closed,” he chastised as Pete’s eyelashes fluttered, and smiled as he heard
the huff of displeasure Pete gave him in return. He kneeled down before Pete, pressing
forward to kiss affectionately at a bruised knee as he worked quickly, slipping Pete’s ankles
through the soft, lacy fabric of a pair of black, crotchless panties.
He felt Pete jolt as the expensive fabric slid up his thighs and leaned up to sink his teeth hard
into Pete’s inner thigh as a distraction.

“Hips up pretty,” he was surprised when Pete complied, but took the win as he was able to
get the fabric up over Pete’s hips, the fabric snug where it hugged the curves of Pete’s ass.

Somehow, despite all the intense bodyguard training and careful diets, Pete had the
miraculous ability to remain toned, the threat of strength teasing through faintly defined
muscle, but veiled behind soft, sloping barely there layer of perfect puppy fat on his hips and
butt and lower tummy that Vegas just wanted to bite.

Vegas pressed forward to nip at his lower stomach just once now, just to take the edge off the
pressure itching at his gums, before he was quickly slipping up the next layer of fabric over
Pete’s legs, yanking his hips up with his own hands and zipping the fabric into place before
Pete could protest.

“If you fucking move, I will chain you to the bed and we will start this all over.”

Pete’s body was still, but every muscle tensed, and Vegas could feel the faint tremors starting
back up.

“Vegas- I”

“Shhh” Vegas cooed, standing to press one finger to Pete’s lips. “Almost done.”

He reached up to make quick work of the buttons of his shirt, and within moments he was
sliding Pete’s arms into it, buttoning it up a few buttons more than he normally would on
himself and tucking it in. He grasped Pete's wrists next, locking him carefully into a pair of
soft leather cuffs, one of their personal favorites.

He reached up to run his own hands through his hair as he took in the sight of Pete before
him, His pretty baby, draped in his own shirt and in the shortest little pleated black skirt, all
done up just for him, somehow the most beautiful and innocent and sexy thing he had ever
laid eyes on.

If it was possible Vegas would reach into his own chest and yank out his heart right now to
offer to Pete.

If it was possible, he would live with his head buried up that skirt for the rest of his life.

He reached out, gathering Pete up and switching their positions so he was sitting on the
chaise, and pulled Pete down into his lap; Pete’s back flush to his chest, his arms locking
around Pete’s waist like a vice. As they sat, when Pete opened his eyes, he would have the
perfect view of himself in their large dressing mirror. Pete shifted, squirming in his lap for a
moment, and Vegas couldn’t help but notice the way his spine was ramrod straight.

“Okay, Pete. Open your eyes for me and look.” He leaned forward to hook his chin over
Pete’s shoulder and gave a few soothing rubs to the soft skin of Pete’s tummy through the
shirt.

He waited a long moment, then pressed down slightly, giving a slight pinch through the shirt.

“I told you to open yo-“

“I don’t- Vegas I don’t think I can,” Pete exhaled in a rush, and Vegas hummed thoughtfully
as he turned his head to nuzzle against the underside of Pete’s jaw.

“Pete, baby, who loves you more than anything in this world?”

He felt Pete swallow as he ran his nose back and forth along the smooth skin right above
Pete’s pretty pearl collar, his tongue flicking out just once against a spot he knew would make
Pete’s toes curl.
“You…”

“Am I blind? Do I need glasses, puppy?”

“Besides the reading ones you think you keep hidden in a fake book?”

Vegas swatted down hard on the inside of Pete’s thigh, scowling to himself.

“Don’t be a brat You were doing well…”

“I’m sorry, Khun Vegas. No, no you can see well, mostly.”

Vegas inhaled, trying to not fall for what he knew was just a distraction attempt.

“Have I spent a whole life surrounded by the most beautiful people and things money could
buy?”

Pete’s lower lip trembled, and he nodded, correcting himself by breathing out a yes Khun,
before he could receive another swat.

“So do I know what is and is not pretty?”

The line of Pete’s shoulders stiffened; Vegas could feel his pulse pounding erratically beneath
his lips

“Yes.”
Vegas let his tongue run along his lower lip, mouth suddenly dry as he asked a question that
he truly feared the answer to.

“Do you trust me?”

Pete’s head turned suddenly toward Vegas; eyebrows furrowed into a scowl though his eyes
remained closed.

“Of course, I do.” He spoke the words as if they were the easiest, simplest truth, as if Vegas
had affronted him by asking something obvious and stupid.

“If you trust me, it means you would trust I would never lie to you, Pete. Not about
anything.”

The line of Pete’s shoulders relaxed a bit, and he shifted, blindly bumping around until his
lips found Vegas’s face, pressing into the corner of his eye chastely.

“No lies between us.” He finally breathed. The promise that they had kept to each other since
the very moment Vegas had opened his eyes in the hospital.

“So turn and open your eyes, Pete. I need to introduce you to the prettiest puppy in the
world.”

Pete stayed still for a long moment, his lips trembling against Vegas’s skin, before he turned
to face forward again, cuffed hands reaching up to rest over the backs of Vegas’s and squeeze
tightly. He took a deep breath, then his eyes were opening, and Vegas pulled him in tight
squeezing Pete into him so hard that Pete gave a little oof as air was forced from his lungs.

You’re safe. I’ve got you. I love you so much if I ever hurt you again, I would gladly let you
kill me.
When Pete opened his eyes fully, Vegas watched as they flicked back and forth, his dark,
large irises revealing nothing.

And then he was crying.

Not the sobbing, wailing he had done earlier, or the angry, screaming cry that Vegas was
familiar with. For once, Pete was entirely silent, huge tear drops gathering to fall in streams.

“Stop crying,” he whispered to himself, and Vegas shushed him, swaying forward to rock
him slightly in his arms.

“You can cry if you need to, pretty.”

“No.” Pete exclaimed loudly, his nails digging into the backs of Vegas’s hands, his eyes
trained on the mirror in a way Vegas wasn’t expecting.

“This is…I’m ruining it. Vegas you- this is the prettiest…if I cry it’ll wipe away and I- I’ve
never looked like this.”

Vegas pressed a smile into the back of Pete’s shoulder, loosening his grip a bit so he could
reach up with one hand and wipe gently at Pete’s tears.

“Baby, you’re not ruining it. You’re just as pretty when you cry. You’re just as pretty without
this make-up. And I can always put it back on for you. If you need to cry, cry puppy. I’ve got
you.”

He ran his thumb slowly along Pete’s lash line, gathering up the tears before the mascara
could start to run. Pete gave a little shudder against him, finally drawing his eyes from the
mirror to turn his head toward Vegas, almost bashful as he tipped his head to press a kiss to
the center of Vegas’s forehead.
“Vegas,” he whispered, and Vegas gave a brief nod, his hand dropping to find Pete’s and give
it an encouraging squeeze.

”Can you-can you show me…can you show me that you that you think I’m pretty?”

Vegas tilted his head up and smiled, full of teeth, before he let his mouth relax.

“Mmm… I can, but it’ll cost you puppy. For you though, I’m offering a discount. One special
puppy kiss, nice and wet and all for me, please.”

For the rest of the world he was a monster—for the rest of the world he spit fire, was made of
barbed, poison laced wire, dangerous to touch, he was stone faced and cruel, burned men
alive and sent their ashes gift wrapped to their wives. But for Pete, he was soft. He was silly.
He was all the things his father had tried to beat out of him long ago.

Pete gave a soft laugh, sounding breathless, before he was surging forward to claim Vegas’s
mouth with his. Pete’s kiss was truly the most special kiss Vegas had ever received, not just
because it was only his, but because Pete somehow managed to kiss him with both the
ferocity of a starving, wild animal and the tender, soul consuming domesticity that Vegas had
always craved. Vegas moaned as he felt Pete’s claim smear, warm and sweet, across his lips,
sucking hungrily before he was licking the taste of Pete’s love straight from the source.

Kissing Pete felt like he was burning up from the inside; kissing Pete felt like cleansing
absolution.

Pete’s tears dripped along his face, warm and wet, and he tilted his head to chase the trails
with his tongue, desperate to taste every part of Pete offered to him, to drink down his
sorrows as if in doing so he could bear them for Pete himself.

“Vegas,” Pete let his head fall forward, trailing his lips down along the side of Vegas’s face as
he tried to turn his head away, “No, you’ll- you’ll ruin the make-up.”
Vegas hummed in disagreement, letting his arms wrap around Pete’s waist again to hold him
close as they both turned their attention back to the mirror. Pete’s knees were pressed
together, shyly, where his legs had been thrown to the side of Vegas’s lap. The lines of the
skirt were short, carefully tailored to Pete’s measurements, so that it just skimmed the center
of those delicious thighs. Vegas reached forward, slipping his hands beneath Pete’s thighs to
part them, sliding one leg over each of his then kicking his feet out, using his knees to press
against the inside of Pete’s and spread him wide.

Pete gasped, his hands shooting down to press down on the skirt as it slipped up, pink
coloring the tips of his ears and spreading down along his cheeks.

“Vegas!” he hissed, and oh no that wouldn’t do, puppies don’t talk back. Vegas grasped the
link of chains connecting the cuffs with one hand and yanked Pete’s hands away, his other
going to flip the length of the skirt up just to tease Pete, putting his adorable, soft, little cock
on display; the strips of black lace of his panties only serving to frame him like a carefully
curated art display.

“Now, now, puppy no reason to be shy. That’s nothing I haven’t seen before now is it?”

“Vegas there’s no—why is it open like that?”

And that had Vegas laughing, reaching down to run his free hand teasingly along the expanse
of inner thigh offered to him by the skirt.

“Oh silly baby, it’s open so I can take advantage of all that easy access the skirt gives us.
What point is there in being able to bend you over any table and fuck right into you if I have
to fight and get your pretty panties out of the way?”

Vegas felt the full body shudder work its way through Pete, and watched in satisfaction as his
cock gave a little twitch in the mirror. When Vegas let his eyes work their way up to find
Pete’s, they were blown out, rimmed with tears and Vegas couldn’t resist the urge to push his
pretty boy, to ruin him—break him down and build him back up.
“Oh sweet, silly thing. You deserve to wear all the pretty, expensive panties money can buy
for you, and I fully intend to see you in all of them. But this little thing?” Vegas lifted an
eyebrow, his hand moving to cup Pete’s slowly hardening shaft with one hand, “This belongs
to me. If I want to be able to see it, to reach up and just grab it whenever I want, I’ll damn
well make sure I can. Say it puppy, who does this belong to?”

Pete flushed all the way to the roots of his hair, his hips giving a quickly aborted thrust as he
struggled to stay good.

“You, Khun Vegas.”

“There’s my good boy.” Vegas smiled at Pete in the mirror, all teeth and raw hunger as he
massaged at his pet teasingly, not grasping or stroking as Pete hardened beneath his hand, but
rubbing slowly, as if he were just petting.

Pete sighed, letting his head fall back slightly to rest on Vegas’s shoulder, his mouth falling
open as he watched Vegas’s hand in the mirror.

“That’s not all that belongs to me, puppy. We’re not done yet.” Vegas spread his own legs
wider, forcing Pete into a stretch he knew would barely even burn with the hours of
flexibility exercises Vegas ordered, and shifted his own hips to angle Pete’s carefully in the
mirror. He let his hand run down slowly between Pete’s legs, fingertip dancing along the
warm, smooth skin of his perineum, giving one teasing press as he passed, before he grasped
one full asscheek in his hand and spread, putting Pete’s beautiful little hole on display.

“Who does this belong to, puppy?”

“You, Khun Vegas,” Pete breathed, his voice soft and dreamy as Vegas watched as he slipped
deeper into the comfort of his submission.

Good, give in to me baby. Let me take care of you.

“What belongs to me?”

Pete blinked a few times, eyes shifting to find Vegas’s in the mirror as his brow furrowed in
confusion.

“Um…my ass?”

Vegas cooed, turning to kiss at the corner of Pete’s mouth sweetly before he let his other hand
release the chain of Pete’s cuffs, one finger going to trace teasingly back and forth along the
soft, rosy furled skin of his hole.

“That’s right, but that’s not what I’m looking for…”

Pete frowned in confusion, tilting his head a bit to the side to press into Vegas’s kisses, his
eyes flickering down to watch as his hips rocked down just a fraction into Vegas’s teasing
touch. His lashes fluttered, clumped with tears and mascara, and Vegas throbbed within his
own pants as he saw Pete racking his brain.

Poor, silly little puppy.

“It’s okay, puppy. You can’t help that you don’t know. But I’m here, I’ve got you. I’m going
to teach you all about how pretty you are and about all of your pretty little parts and how
much I love them.”

Vegas let the tip of his middle finger dip, just a bit, into the warm, dry skin of Pete’s rim,
before he was sliding it out to circle it teasingly.

“This, my sweet, little princess is your pretty, pink, pussy, and it belongs to me.”

Pete jolted in his arms, mouth falling open before he was shifting, trying to force his way out
of Vegas’s lap.
“Vegas!”

Bad puppy. Don’t fight me.

Vegas reached out to grasp at the chains cuffing Pete’s wrists together, his arm caging Pete
back against his chest as he brought his other hand down, hard, first against Pete’s hole, and
then again, right against the seam of his balls. Pete hissed, struggling against him.

“Vegas, I’m a man! That’s not funny!”

Vegas rolled his eyes, letting out a loud sigh just to impose upon Pete how exasperated he
was with that bullshit of an argument.

“I know you’re a man, Pete. I don’t think you aren’t one. This doesn’t have anything to do
wit – stop fucking fighting me!”

Vegas hissed as Pete’s elbow landed dangerously close to some scar tissue, and they both
went completely still. Vegas let out a slow, steady breath of air as he fought through the pain
and his own irritation, sighing as he felt the trembling start back up in Pete’s muscles.

“The lipstick. Does that make you any less of a man?” Vegas breathed through gritted teeth.

Pete blinked at him, completely confused.

“I-“

“The skirt. Does it make you any less of a man?”

Pete’s mouth pressed closed, and he looked down, eyes trained on Vegas’s collarbone for a
moment as he seemed to be sorting through the thoughts scrambled in his head.

“It’s just a word. The lipstick is just a cosmetic. The skirt is just a fucking fabric Pete. Leave
the rest of the world at the door when you come in here. If you don’t like it we won’t say it,
but answer me honestly. Did it feel good when I said it? Don’t think about whatever the fuck
anyone else told you about that word. Think about what you felt when I said it.”

Pete didn’t look up, his hands moving to press into his skirt, twisting the fabric between his
fingers for a moment as he thought. Vegas saw him fighting against himself, and let his arms
wrap back around Pete, holding him tightly. Finally, Pete gave a slight nod.

“What about it made you feel good?”

Pete huffed, rolling his eyes at the sheer injustice of actually having to talk about his feelings
before he grumbled as Vegas slid his own legs back in between Pete’s, spreading him open
like he had him before.

“Just…just made me feel…” he gave a long suffering sigh, his knuckles going white with
how tightly he was grasping the material of the skirt, “made me feel sexy. Was humiliating
but…made me feel pretty all at once. The way you said it-like you wanted me.”

“I do want you. Pete, I want you to feel pretty because I think you’re beautiful. I want you to
feel pretty because I want you to know how much I want you—how much I love you. I want
to give you everything you ever wanted and more. I want to drown you in love. I want to-
fuck.” Vegas scowled, letting his head fall forward against Pete’s shoulder as he breathed
deeply.

“You already know. That I want you so much, that if I could, I would chain you to my bed. If
I could, I would gag you so no one could ever know your voice but me, I would hide you
behind locked doors, so that no one could ever see how beautiful you are but me. I would
hide you away and keep you all for me and me alone. But I can’t do that. But you need to
know. I need to show you how much I want you, how much you mean to me. I need to give
you all the things you deserve, not just because if I give you everything, you’ll learn just how
much you mean to me, but because Pete, you deserve everything. I will do anything for you.”
Vegas leaned up, pressing a kiss to the mole right at Pete’s ear. He felt the words I’m sorry
itching at his tongue. It horrified him, sometimes, how much he wanted. The image of the
cruel reality of what his want could do haunting him always, of Pete’s body, strung up from
the ceiling in chains, bleeding and infected—of Pete sobbing as the knife dug into his palm.

It horrified him, that even with those images permanently burned in his brain, that sometimes
he still found himself standing above Pete in the middle of the night, thinking how easy it
would be, to shackle him to the bed, to brick up the door, to keep him locked away and only
his forever.

When Vegas finally turned to meet Pete’s eye in the mirror, Pete was already staring back at
him, his eyes two, deep, endless abysses of knowing.

He sees and he knows.

He still stays.

Pete shifted a bit in his lap, his eyelids lowering demurely as he tilted his head down. His
fingers trembled a bit as he smoothed out his skirt, and Vegas reached to help him, but was
stopped as Pete swatted his hand away.

Pete gazed at him through the mirror, fluttering his eyelashes once, twice, before he slid the
skirt back up, holding it against his own stomach as a blush began to creep down his neck
again.

Neither of them spoke for a long while, understanding stretching between them, soothing
across old, deep wounds.

Finally, Pete tilted his head, a silent invitation.

 Chapter 9
Chapter Summary

“Who am I hard for, Pete?” Vegas’s eyes were dark, hungry, as they searched his own in
the mirror. Pete felt a tense knot forming in the pit of his stomach as he struggled to
piece together the scattered parts of his brain to find an answer, the answer that would
get Vegas to use that stupid voice on him again, the answer that would make him a good
baby—good puppy, sweet darling.

Chapter Notes

Okay I promised they would switch perspectives again in this chapter, but I only got
pete's out before the day ended. I still really wanted to do an update today because I'm
going to be slammed all week, and honestly though it would be nice to give a
little...appetizer? I guess? I'm sorry it's so short.

Um. Yeah I have to warn y'all it's getting real out here with the gender play. I'm also
throwing in Daddy. That's not even usually my thing but it felt... right?

I have an ending and an epilogue planned for this story. Please. Someone hold me
accountable for actually getting this done.

Next time! We'll be back to Vegas. and it will be all out smut.

Pete understood that there had been a great deal of things in life that he hadn’t experienced
like a normal person would. He had learned early on in his time as a bodyguard that when he
opened his mouth it was rapidly apparent that everyone thought he was a naïve, stupid,
country bumpkin island boy.

So, he started staying silent and watching everyone else closely. It wasn’t hard, if anything he
was used to that level of observation from watching his father carefully for mood swings,
trying to avoid stepping on the emotional landmines that would set his father off.

Pre-life as a bodyguard, he was so busy trying to take care of his family, earn money for food,
and avoid getting his ass beat he had zero time for normal, teenage boy things. During his life
as a bodyguard, he was so busy trying to make up for lost time educationally, get himself into
perfect fighting shape, learn all the ropes needed for the job, and still avoid getting his ass
beat, that he had zero time for…well normal, teenage boy and young adult man things.

When other bodyguards were sneaking off to bribe Arm to burn them discs of downloaded
porn and beating off beneath their covers, Pete was hiding in broom closets practicing Central
Thai over and over in hopes people would stop making fun of his accent. He was staring at
math problems other bodyguards “had learned in sixth year mate are you fucking dumb?”
fuck off Ken, Pete had had a concussion that year and couldn’t remember half of it. He was
sneaking off “just for a smoke break” to give him an excuse to crouch behind a bush where
others couldn’t see him as he tried to memorize long lists of English words, so that when Ken
or Vegas or Chan or literally every other person in this stupid mansion decided to randomly
switch languages with no rhyme or reason he could follow along instead of standing there
blinking until someone gave a disappointed cluck and translate the order for him.

You know it wastes time, Pete, that you can’t keep up. Time is the difference between life and
death in this job; I expected you to put more effort in.

Bro how do you still not understand what I’m saying? Bu-ll-et. Give me the fucking bullets
man.

I thought all of the main family’s bodyguards spoke at least some English, simple thing; I
asked if you knew where I could find my cousin.

Admittedly, Vegas’s brand of disappointment had always made the shame burn just that much
more deeply in his stomach. But it also had often left him flustered in a way that he for a long
time had not understood.

So yes, between the constant game of catch up to try and finally get people to just stop
laughing at him, stupid little country boy, the endless trainings, the missions, the constant
grunt work as a lower-level bodyguard, he seldom had time to even sleep. Big often found
him standing stock still in a corner, eyes fully open but brain logged off as a cigarette burned
to ash between his fingers, having dozed off standing on a smoke break.

He had no brain space for anything extra, let alone to think about sex.
Just like during his childhood, he had only understood sex through the snippets of
conversations he heard from other bodyguards, the jokes about rare days off well spent, about
the good porn being circulated and who to talk to get your hands on it.

But Pete, at his core, was a human. And there were times he had fallen into bed, exhausted,
asleep before he had even pulled up the covers, and awoke thirty minutes later, sticky and
ashamed as he gasped, rutting forward into the mattress.

When he had become more senior, working his way up the ranks to head bodyguard, and had
become more comfortable speaking and felt less like there was an insurmountable gap
between himself and everyone else, he had learned a bit more.

If not because he had been curious about sex in general, but at the very least because the
weird sex competition between the cousins of the family often left him confused.

So he shyly had gone to Chan, too embarrassed to ask Arm to sneak him a phone and risk
someone somehow seeing what he searched for, and asked for a brief lesson on sex
education. Chan, who by now was deeply familiar with his educational shortcomings and
couldn’t possibly be even more disappointed than when Pete had asked where Japan was on a
map, had turned a shade of red Pete had never seen before and did not ever see after.

But to his credit, the lesson Pete had received, complete with power points with very helpful
diagrams for all types of sex between various genders and careful warnings about the
importance of condoms., had been very helpful.

But Pete had still felt like there were large gaps missing from what he knew that could
explain what he felt, and even after the lesson Pete had felt a very raw, deep sense of shame.

He was busy all the time anyway, so in the end he thought that it just didn’t matter. He had
long ago given up on ever finding someone to share his kiss with, let alone someone to give
his body over to.
No one will ever want a dumb, ugly, country boy.

So Pete pushed down his shame. He tucked himself away into corners and behind his bangs.
He didn’t join in on enthusiastic locker room talk and drunken confessions about lost loves or
longing.

He only allowed himself the sleepy rutting against his bedsheets.

And once. Just once he swears.

He had found himself pressed against the shower wall, his cheek smashed against the cold
tile as he touched himself, shameful of how he had been dripping in his pants just because
Vegas had called him amazing for having taken such good care of his batshit crazy eldest
cousin for years.

Pete had known that he was deeply inexperienced when he and Vegas got together. So when
Vegas had been lying asleep in a hospital bed, or grunting as he pushed himself in physical
therapy, Pete had been searching the internet on his very own, new and private, phone with
careful threats to Arm that if anyone was looking at his search history he would enjoy telling
everyone all about how Pol had caught him looking at furry porn.

Pete didn’t know what a furry was at the time, but Pol had been laughing so hard when he
had relayed it to Pete that he had been crying, so he knew it would be an effective threat.

Dog collar in boyfriend’s room?

I like to be tied up I think?

How can I be good at sex?

How to make my boyfriend orgasm?

Pete’s first time had been, despite the circumstances, one of the best experiences of his life,
and as he had searched, he had found himself achingly hard and desperate to try each and
every thing that he was learning. Vegas had caught him early on, prone to pretending to be
asleep just so that he could watch Pete when his guard was down, so Pete had given up on
trying to hide it and let Vegas join in. After all, wouldn’t it be great to hear what Vegas liked
from the source?

They would spend hours together, Pete lying in Vegas’s hospital bed, Vegas’s head propped
up on his shoulder, looking unfairly adorable with his unstyled hair, as they pored through
the internet, Vegas guiding his searches with soft, drug-hazed commands.

That feels okay I guess, but I prefer if you take your tongue and rub it right there.

I’d prefer to do that to you than have it done to me.

That. Yes. Yes. Completely yes to that.

Their searching had escalated to Vegas making him practice as they went home, as he still
hadn’t been cleared in his recovery for sex. He would recline in their bed, looking so soft and
relaxed in his sweatpants, one hand behind Pete’s head, the other holding a hyper-realistic
dildo that he had overnight shipped steady as he forced Pete down and held him there,
ignoring as he gagged.

“Just training your throat so you’ll be ready for me, puppy.”

It had driven Pete absolutely crazy, the sight of Vegas, hard in his sweats, the smell of him so
close, his voice whispering praises as Pete had to choke on lifeless, tasteless, silicone.

The day the doctor had cleared Vegas, Pete hadn’t even given the driver time to roll the
partition up before he was on the floor of the car, breaking the button to Vegas’s pants clean
off in his haste to get that cock right where it belongs right now.
From that moment on, he had been hooked. He had gone for so long without; he wasn’t going
to waste a single moment of Vegas offering to be his.

To make up for lost time.

To feed the hungry, aching monster within himself.

To get his fill before Vegas inevitably saw he was a nothing boy and left.

Despite the fact they fucked like rabbits, the deep, starving pit within himself never seemed
to be filled. The sparks that ran through his veins when Vegas touched him never dulled. And
after all this time, there were still new things to explore, new and different ways to feel one
another, to come together, to carve open their souls and offer new spaces for their love to fill.

While this moment was excruciating, in how it felt as though Vegas had taken a hot knife to
his insides and flayed him open to poke and play at all the raw, aching scar tissue on his
heart, Pete couldn’t deny that he somehow felt…

Sexy?

Wanted?

Loved?

It felt like Vegas’s desire was wrapped all around him, woven into the chain of pearls on his
throat and suffocating him to try and get him to learn, every breath he took a gentle reminder,
love you, you belong to me, want you, need you. It felt like each brush of lace across his hips
was a whispered lesson, you can’t hide from me, this is mine, want it all the time.
Pete let his head fall back onto Vegas’s shoulder as Vegas’s hands smoothed down along his
thighs, whining as Vegas grabbed the string of pearls dangling from his ear between his teeth
and pulled.

“Eyes on the mirror, puppy. You’re going to watch me take you apart.”

Pete huffed, just to be bratty, just to feel the sting as Vegas gave another, slow, tortuous tug
on the earring. He felt the sting zip all the way down his spine, his toes curling as he whined,
low in his throat and turned his head toward Vegas, lips parting as he tried to steal a kiss.

“Kiss first,” he let himself whine, watching with delight as Vegas scowled, his eyes flickering
between the desire to punish for insolence and the desire to smother Pete in love.

It didn’t make sense, how Vegas could possibly be so obsessed with someone like him. But
Pete gave up on trying to understand, and instead allowed himself to bask in it, to enjoy it
while he could have it.

He smiled as Vegas growled, leaning in to rub his nose, just once, against Vegas’s, and
shivered as Vegas’s lips found his, ravenous and bruising in all the ways he loved to be loved.
He let his tongue flick out, licking playfully at Vegas’s teeth before he was pulling back, the
endless pit of hunger inside of himself positively roaring as Vegas chased after him, pressing
a soft, chaste kiss to the bow of his lips.

He gasped out, fingers flexing in the fabric of his skirt as Vegas used his momentary lapse in
attention to pinch hard at the head of his dick, holding the unbearable pressure for just a
moment before releasing, leaving Pete feeling breathless with the rush of blood that followed.

“Quit being naughty and listen, puppy. Eyes on the mirror.”

Pete nodded, tilting his head to let his temple rest against Vegas’s, his eyes searching the
mirror to find Vegas’s own. He let his mind drift as he took in that handsome face, like
perfectly sculpted marble, the slope of his nose, the sharp edges of high cheek bones, perfect
for landing kisses upon. That strikingly beautiful face, normally fierce and frightening in its
scowl, in its twisted smirk, in haunting gaze, was for once, soft, the furrowed brow relaxed,
the smirking mouth, just barely parted, the guarded gaze open and hungry and so, so adoring
as it looked at him.

All of this, only for him.

Pete blinked as he felt the burn of tears threatening along his waterline, and his mouth
suddenly ached with the need to turn his head and steal kiss after kiss. He wanted to kiss
every centimeter of Vegas’s face, claim his mouth over and over until his lips were perfectly
flushed with a bruise the shape of Pete’s lips.

Pete inhaled as one of Vegas’s hands slipped upward, stroking along his lower stomach over
the fabric of the skirt, petting him.

“No, darling, eyes on yourself. Don’t look at me.”

Those fingers pressed in, massaging slowly as the other hand cupped him loosely, giving a
few teasing strokes that had Pete struggling to refrain from thrusting up, seeking more
delicious friction. He whimpered, watching a drop of precum bead at the tip, Vegas’s thumb
swiping across it as it massaged into the head.

“Look at you precious,” Vegas was using that stupid voice, the honey sweet voice as if Pete
was sweet and small and cherished, “look how pretty you are. My pretty baby, yeah?”

Pete’s fingers trembled as he let his skirt drop to bunch behind his erection, bringing his
cuffed hands up to rest behind Vegas’s head, letting his fingers slide into the thick, soft
strands and grip, just so he had something to hold on to. He shivered as Vegas let his thumb
caress the sensitive underside of his glans, teeth digging into his lower lip as he tried and
failed not to squirm.

“Squirmy little puppy, I asked you a question, Pete. Now tell me, who is my pretty baby?”
Vegas was smiling the evil asshole he was in the mirror before he was catching that stupid
earring between his teeth again, threatening to pull.
“Me,” he gasped, whining high and loud in the back of his throat, because of all the things he
was in bed, quiet was certainly not one of them. Vegas loved him loud, so why bother, if it
was a rare time that Vegas wanted him to play a quiet game puppy, well that’s what they had
an assortment of custom-made gags for. Vegas pulled at the earring between his teeth and
Pete positively yipped.

“Answer properly.”

“I’m- I’m your pretty baby.”

Vegas cooed in delight, kissing at the side of Pete’s head loudly as if he were an actual puppy
being praised. Pete gripped tighter at Vegas’s hair in retaliation but was gasping as Vegas
finally gripped him tight, slick sounds filling the air as he began to pump mercilessly.

“That’s my good princess. Look at you, look at this cute little cock. All mine to play with,
yeah? Can you feel me, baby? You feel how hard you make me?” Vegas was pulling his hips
back, and Pete circled his hips against the hardness he could feel against his back, the stiff
material of Vegas’s slacks so rough against his thighs, through the thin lace barely covering
his ass.

“Who am I hard for, Pete?” Vegas’s eyes were dark, hungry, as they searched his own in the
mirror. Pete felt a tense knot forming in the pit of his stomach as he struggled to piece
together the scattered parts of his brain to find an answer, the answer that would get Vegas to
use that stupid voice on him again, the answer that would make him a good baby—good
puppy, sweet darling.

“Y-your pretty puppy,” He finally settled on, fighting the urge to press his thighs closed but
giving into the urge to chase the friction against his cock, hips surging up and forward in
quick, desperate little humps toward Vegas’s hand.

“Mmm… that’s true baby, but I don’t feel like you’re a puppy right now. My puppy is such a
good boy, so well trained. Look at you now. Look how naughty and spoiled you are, just
taking what you want like that. My puppy knows better,” Vegas’s fingers suddenly curled
unbearably tight at the base of his cock, and Pete gasped, throwing his head back against
Vegas’s shoulder as his eyes watered, hips stilling completely, “I think today you might be
my pretty little kitty hmm? Doesn’t that fit so much better, my little naughty kitten with a
little naughty pussy?”

Pete could feel the blood roaring in his ears, his toes curling tight as a wave of pure
humiliation washed over him. His heart was thundering and the deep, monstrous pit inside of
himself was pressing so hard against his ribs he could swear he heard the bones creak. He
ground his teeth together but the words were bubbling up, hot and poisonous in his mouth.

“Kitten, I’ll tolerate a lot from my spoiled princess but when I ask you a question, I still
expect answers.”

Tears were welling up, traitorous and blissful in his eyes.

No no no no. He wanted to scream. I can’t. I can’t let it out.

If I let it out, I’ll never be able to control it again.

Vegas’s free hand was sliding up, up, up, coming to rest over the pearls of his collar and
pressing in, the pearls beneath his warm palm pressing against Pete’s windpipe.

He wants it. He wants you.

“Little naughty kitten, if you don’t behave, I’m going to have to punish you. If you don’t
behave you won’t get this cute little cunt fucked.”

Vegas hand was still clutching him in that awful, wonderful, vice-like grip, and Pete’s thighs
were shaking. But where his hand was brutal, his kiss was so sweet as he turned to press
once, softly to the corner of Pete’s mouth. Pete really couldn’t decide which was more
tortuous.
“Naughty kitten, won’t you behave for me? You know I’m just as happy filling up that throat,
but I want you baby, want you to be good so I can get inside of you, make you all mine.
Don’t you want me, kitty?”

Pete sobbed, of course, he wanted to scream. Of course, I want you – you’re mine.

And he made the mistake of opening his eyes, of looking into the depths of Vegas’s in the
mirror, and he was consumed.

There is nothing else in this world but you.

He smiled, jolting with laughter as he pulled lightly at the strands of Vegas’s hair between his
fingers, tongue dragging along one of his sharp canines before he was turning toward Vegas,
leaning up to kiss a trail from Vegas’s jaw to his ear, giving a slow soft purr. He felt lit up
from the inside, burning bright enough that every shadow that hung over the spaces between
them had been chased out.

Whatever he was, belonged to Vegas. Whatever broken pieces made him up, all belonged to
Vegas.

“Wanna be your kitty. Wanna be your pretty kitten. Please, please please please,” he whined,
sucking the lobe of Vegas’s ear between his teeth to give a teasing nibble, just one, for
retribution, “want your cock in me, please, you said- you said I was your pretty boy, said you
would fuck me please, please K-“

Pete released the lobe between his teeth, blinking once, twice. Khun Vegas didn’t feel right. It
felt like a rift between them. Vegas’s grip loosened on him, and Pete breathed in a ragged
breath, swiveling his hips in a slow, grinding circle against Vegas’s swollen cock beneath
him.

Vegas groaned, his hips thrusting up, his hand clutching into the pearls at Pete’s throat, and
Pete felt like the most beautiful person alive as he saw Vegas’s eyelashes just barely flutter in
waves of pleasure that Pete was bringing him.
Pete didn’t speak English. It was a fundamental rule he had. If he didn’t have to. He
wouldn’t. When anyone spoke English around him, he simply would smile and nod, run off
to do whatever had been commanded of him. Even now that he lived with two men who
spoke like they were straight out of a Hollywood surf movie, bro, he simply responded back
in Thai.

Clearly it wasn’t that he couldn’t speak English. He could understand after all, and he in
theory knew how to respond back. But he hated it; he feared that he would open his mouth
and he would be thrown right back to that first day when he had extended a hand to his first
roommate in the dorms, smiled, and promptly been laughed at for his speaking style. Vegas,
so talented with languages, so smart, deserved a partner on his level. And Pete wanted to give
him that. When he knew Vegas or Macau weren’t home, he would lock himself in the
bathroom, crouch in the shower stall with his phone and play English speaking instructional
videos, pausing to repeat back what was playing, over and over, just like when he was back in
bodyguard training and practicing Central Thai.

One day, he would come down to dinner, ruffle Macau’s hair, kiss Vegas’s head, and sit at the
table.

How was your day?

He would watch Macau drop his fork in shock, probably. Vegas would smile, somehow all
knowing, as always. He would be so proud, and they would talk all dinner, a language for just
the three of them, fresh and new and unhaunted.

But for now, he wasn’t ready.

For now, there was one thing he thought he could do. One thing he knew from the hours of
virtual sexual exploration in Vegas’s hospital bed. Something that felt right in the level of
adoration and closeness it would convey for this new level of submission.

Pete shifted himself down in Vegas’s lap, sneaking his mouth toward the hand that had just
been at his throat, letting his tongue flick between Vegas’s fingers, across the tattoos scattered
there. He looked up at Vegas’s face from beneath his teary lashes, and he hoped his mascara
had begun to run, but knew with the amount Vegas probably spent on it, it wasn’t.

“Want you to fuck my cunt, Daddy. It’s yours”

 Chapter 10
Chapter Summary

Vegas thought back, just for a moment, to the time he had tightened his fingers into
Pete’s hair until he had felt strands snap as he pushed Pete’s face down into a soup bowl
and held him there. Fair is only fair. It would serve him right if Pete held him down to
suffocate him inside this delicious ass.

Chapter Notes

Okay I know I know I know this was a shorter one. I just was absolutely slammed and
wanted to make sure I was able to post something this weekend. I'm going to try and get
started on the next chapter tomorrow, but don't know if I'll be able to post it until next
weekend. The next chapter will have all the explicit, raw, nasty fucking, but I'm also
warning you all in advance it's going to be SAPPY, nasty fucking.

That might be the last like.. part of the main storyline itself. But then I'm going to make
an epilogue.

And then maybe...who knows? some bonus chapters post epilogue? (Maybe Pete
wearing the skirt while he fucks Vegas? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )

My warning for this chapter is: look. I like to make pretty boys cry in skirts as they get
dommed. That's all I've got for this.

Vegas had learned from an early age that there were different types and levels of power. As
the son of a wealthy, well-connected family, he was intimately familiar with a variety of types
of power. The power to ruin lives, the power to get simple indiscretions swept under the rug,
the power to buy pieces of jewelry that normal people would never have even heard of.

But he also knew what it felt like to yearn for power. To stand behind his father’s raging
form, cowering as his fingers itched with the desire to just grab the nearest gun and shoot. To
end his own misery, his father’s, to take fucking control of something. Anything.
But right now? Right now, he felt like a fucking god. When Pete looked up at him, his
defenses broken down, his soul on display, and sank so beautifully into the warm comfort of
the love Vegas was dying to give him, this was everything. When Pete mumbled those filthy
words, so sweetly, so shyly, Vegas felt like for once in his life, he had attained true power.

He didn’t need anything else.

He just needed to see that fuzzy, sated, happy, warm, loving look in Pete’s eyes for the rest of
his life.

And the next.

And the next.

Vegas wanted to rage at himself though, for his lack of foresight. This position wouldn’t do.
He needed to have Pete lying down, spread open, surrounded by mirrors so no matter which
way he looked he would see. He would see how beautiful he was, how divine, as Vegas split
him open and they joined together, body and soul. He needed to have the perfect angle to
drive deep, to spoil his baby, to fuck into him again and again and again.

He wanted Pete on his back, so he could see his beautiful face. He wanted him on his
stomach, so he could watch those beautiful ass cheeks bounce as his hips drove forward and
smacked against them. He wanted Pete on his side, suspended in the air, on his knees. He
wanted to spread Pete out on a bed of red silk, kneel before him, and worship him from head
to toe. His mouth watered at the thought of kneeling before Pete for hours, licking into him,
tasting him, suffocating himself as he hid away in his favorite place in the world.

Fuck. He was just a man. How could anyone expect that he could do anything but fall to his
knees when Pete looked at him like that, when Pete called out to him like that.

He opened his mouth, and promptly shut it. For once in his life, he was speechless.
And oh no – Pete’s lower lip trembled, flush spreading across his cheeks and neck, hot and
embarrassed and ashamed when Vegas didn’t answer him. Pete’s hands slipped from his hair
as he started to bring his arms back down to his chest, crossing in front of himself
protectively- fuck no no no.

“Baby,” he groaned, low in his throat, and then he was moving, his muscles screaming
against the sudden motion as he grabbed Pete and threw him bodily across the chaise, their
limbs knocking together in a painful, awkward jumble in his haste to get between Pete’s legs
right the fuck now. They ended up in an awkward sprawl, Pete pushed up against the back of
the chaise, his legs open wide as Vegas bullied his way between them, one arm hooking
around one thigh to brace himself as he slid one of Pete’s calves over his shoulder. He pushed
open Pete’s other leg, knocking it to across the edge of seat, his hand gripping tightly at his
inner thigh to hold him open.

“Fuck, Pete, Fuck yes.” He scrambled for the small pillow that usually lay on the seat, finding
they had knocked it off to the side and grabbing it to work it under Pete’s hips, giving him
good, accessible leverage to that delicious feast of an ass. His eyes flicked up to find Pete’s as
he pushed the skirt upward again, rubbing his nose lovingly along the crease where hip met
thigh as he gazed at the absolute love of his lives--this life and all the next ones.

Pete’s eyes were focused, too focused, shy and insecure again and that wouldn’t do. Vegas
needed him back down in that special, fuzzy place where Pete felt safe enough to accept all
his love.

“My sweet little kitten, Daddy’s sweet little kitten, fuck Pete I’m going to eat you alive,”
Vegas couldn’t stop himself from pushing just a bit harder on Pete’s thigh, feeling the muscle
give just the slightest tremble as his nails bit into the skin. He mouthed at the lace draped
across Pete’s hip, tongue wetting the tattooed skin between the gaps in handwoven flowers
before he pulled back to just admire the pretty sight before him. Pete’s lovely little cock
framed in lace, flushed at the tip and contrasting beautifully with the little pearl of precum
beading there; those adorable, dusky balls, tight against Pete’s body with arousal, deserving
of a million sweet kisses for all the torture Vegas loved to inflict on them; the soft stretch of
Pete’s perineum guiding the way to the most delicious little hole Vegas had ever had the
pleasure of taking. Vegas sighed, overwhelmed by pure bliss as he gazed at his kitten’s sweet,
perfect pussy, leaning forward to press a loving, chaste kiss right to the weeping head of
Pete’s cock, smiling up at Pete before he started to smother his kitten in kisses, giving soft,
exaggerated muahs against the silkiest skin he had ever had the pleasure of touching.
“Look at you baby; look at this cute cunt, is this all for Daddy? Sweet boy, offering up your
pussy for Daddy to play with. Good, darling boy.”

Pete flushed nearly from head to toe, his hands coming to cover his face as he squirmed, back
arching as he was kissed all over. Vegas reached up to grasp an elbow and yank, fingers
digging into the skin hard enough to bruise in warning.

“Don’t hide your pretty face, kitten.”

Pete’s cuffed hands moved as Vegas pulled him, before releasing so Pete could reach his
hands down and rake his fingers through Vegas’s hair. He watched the war in Pete’s eyes for
a moment as he fought against himself, before they went remarkably, quickly, soft. He
watched Pete sink into his special place and felt like the most powerful man alive to know
that it was he who sent Pete there.

“You want me…” Pete breathed, and Vegas couldn’t tell if he was talking to himself in that
adorable habit of his, or if it was a statement that was seeking affirmation. Either way, Vegas
nodded, leaning forward to drag his tongue slowly across head of Pete’s cock, pointing his
tongue to press teasingly against the slit.

“Of course, I want you, baby. I want you in every way possible. Whether you’re my pretty
kitten or my sweet puppy. You’re my everything. Such a good boy, you want Daddy to lick
your little clit until you cum? Hmm?” Vegas cooed sweetly up at Pete, not bothering to hide
his smile as he felt Pete jolt beneath him as he teasingly flicked his tongue across Pete’s cock,
one hand moving to trap the head between two fingers and hold it in place.

He watched Pete’s face carefully, waiting for any resistance, but Pete’s eyes were reflective
beneath a haze of pleasured tears, pupils blown wide, and he was down, oh what a sweet little
darling. Pete’s head thunked back against the chaise, but his eyes didn’t leave Vegas’s for a
moment as the muscles of his hips twitched in a fight to stay still and be good. His lips
parted, and then he was shaking his head desperately, first yes and then no and then yes
again.

“No-yes-I…I want- I want-“ and then he sobbed, a desperate, pitiful little sound, as his
fingers tightened in Vegas’s hair. Vegas laved his tongue across the tender, rosy skin before
him, getting it shiny with his spit, before leaning in to give a slow, harsh suck that had Pete’s
whole body going rigid. He pulled back with a loud pop, and he wondered how long it would
take for Pete to come just from having his head teased alone, sensitive boy.

“What do you want kitty? I’ll give you anything you ever ask for, gonna spoil you so much,
my baby.”

Vegas watched in delight as Pete squirmed, whimpering as he desperately tried not to chase
after the warmth of Vegas’s lips. Pete shook his head as If to clear it, and then he whined as
he gazed into Vegas’s eyes, lashes fluttering prettily.

“Want your cock please, Daddy.”

“Oh pretty thing, of course. But not yet, Daddy wanted to play with you first princess.
Wanted to appreciate how beautiful you look.”

Normally, when they played, Pete was the perfect pet. Normally, he followed orders
beautifully, gave himself up body and soul and was completely content to be under Vegas’s
full control. So Vegas was surprised when he felt Pete’s heel lift from his back and then thud
back against it as he whined, high and petulant, his pretty pink lips twisting into a scowl.

“I said please. I’ve been a good boy. I’ve been your pretty boy. You said so. Give me your
cock now, Daddy. I earned it.”

Vegas ground his teeth together to stop his jaw from dropping open, and he watched Pete’s
eyes soften a bit, his teeth biting into his lower lip shyly before he gave a slight tilt to his
head.

Is this okay? His eyes read.

There were nights when Vegas would awake in a cold sweat, the image of Pete’s lifeless body
swaying from chains because he had just taken what he was given without fighting back
against the terror of Vegas’s control. He often feared, deep down, without ever admitting to
Pete, that Pete’s submission to him might, at times, be coerced. He often thought back to the
moment he had lain on a filthy garage floor, and the sheer relief he had felt when Pete fought
back. He thought about the warmth that had bloomed in his chest like a spring flower when
Pete had demanded no —you can’t kill yourself. What about me? I’m hungry. I have wants
too. Now take care of me.

Is this okay? Fuck yes. Absolutely.

“Naughty, spoiled little thing,” Vegas let his fingers squeeze tight where he had Pete’s cock
trapped between them, his other hand coming down in a harsh swat that had a hand print
blooming across Pete’s inner thigh. Pete hissed, his thighs jolting as they tried to squeeze
closed around Vegas’s shoulders, unable to do so as Vegas used his hand to keep one thigh
spread open. Vegas laughed, condescending and mean, squeezing his fingers tighter together
and watching the rosy skin of Pete’s cockhead turn red.

“Little cockdrunk cum slut, you think you earned Daddy’s cock just because you’ve been
pretty for me? Oh silly boy, not yet. What a cute little thing, thinking he gets to boss me
around.”

The chain linking Pete’s wrists together clinked as he trembled, and he whimpered before his
heel was kicking once more into Vegas’s back, careful to avoid the deep scar at his shoulder
blade. He tossed his head back, and Vegas’s teeth itched with the urge to bite into the expanse
of the soft skin beneath that perfectly collared neck.

“But I need it!” Pete whined, and Vegas laughed again, releasing the head of Pete’s cock to
flick it teasingly. He rubbed the tender skin with the pad of one finger as Pete hissed, and he
leaned in to nuzzle against the reddened skin of Pete’s thigh, using his sweetest baby voice as
he patronized Pete.

“Oh, I’m sorry kitten. I didn’t realize you needed it. Have I been mean? Have I been
neglecting you sweet boy?”

Vegas let his eyes flick up to meet Pete’s, smiling as he watched those delicious lips part to
retort, before he was bringing his hand down harshly against Pete’s erection, swatting it
roughly and watching as it bobbed helplessly back up to slap against Pete’s pubic bone. Pete
yipped, a tear dripping its way down his cheek as his eyes squeezed shut.
“Spoiled baby. You know I would never neglect you. Who knows what you need? Who gives
you what you need? Have I ever not given my kitten what he needs?” Vegas brought his palm
down harshly against Pete’s dick, striking over and over in a series of carefully calculated
hits, not allowing Pete a single moment to breathe or respond until he had hit ten.

He let Pete have a moment to draw in a gasping breath, admiring the tears streaking his
flushed cheeks, before he was striking again, swift and merciless, ten more hits for his
naughty little kitten.

Pete’s face was red by the time he was done, his lips trembling as he cried, Vegas’s beautiful
boy. Vegas cooed at him, soft and sweet as he peppered kisses across Pete’s hip.

“I know, kitty, I know. You can’t help you’re just a silly boy who gets too excited when he
wants to get fucked. But that’s what I’m here for hmm? To take care of you? I know what
you need; I give you what you need. Don’t I, princess?”

Pete nodded earnestly, gazing at Vegas with nothing short of utter devotion.

“Are you going to be a good boy now and let Daddy play with your pussy? Let Daddy eat
you out until you’re nice and wet and messy for my cock? Or do you need me to punish you
some more kitten?”

Pete loved pain, loved suffering in the way a broken person who only found peace when they
felt that they had atoned would. Pete could, and would, go hours beneath Vegas’s hand,
finding solace in the warmth of Vegas’s palm raining down against his skin. Twenty hits was
nothing to him.

So Vegas was taken aback again when Pete whimpered and nodded, tears dripping down his
beautiful cheeks as he began to beg.

“N-no. I’m gonna…gonna be good. Please Daddy, please—wanna be your good boy again.
Let me be good, please” he was slurring—his accent slipping in and out as he gazed up at
Vegas as if the world might end if Vegas told him no, you aren’t my good boy yet, you need
more punishment.

As if, for once, Pete would believe him when Vegas said he was good. As if, for once, the
pain Pete normally gladly sought comfort in was too much –too devastating. Pete was crying
—true honest tears at the thought he wasn’t good. Vegas felt dizzy with the sudden shift, felt
weakened by awe at the fact that he had somehow managed to press deeply into a crack in
Pete’s armor and open up a whole new layer, reveal some sensitive, raw wound--reveal a
whole, new side to Pete that he had been hiding for so long he himself probably hadn’t
known it existed.

Vegas tucked that away to reflect upon later, for now his sweet baby kitten needed him.

“Oh kitten, of course you’re my good boy. My lovely, pretty, princess. I know, I know you
can’t help how excited you are. Perfect boy, shhh. It’s my fault; I spoil you. Just want to give
you everything you deserve. Shh shh shh princess. There we go. Now lay back honey, let
Daddy taste you. My favorite treat. Going to eat you up, Pete.”

Vegas let his hands grasp the backs of Pete’s thighs, massaging into them as Pete settled for
him, sniffling as he leaned into the cushioned seat against his back. He moaned, loud and soft
and sweet as Vegas’s hands moved inward to grasp at his lace covered cheeks and spread him
open wide to reveal the tight little furl of his hole between the lace of the panties.

Vegas leaned in, pressing a soft, tender kiss right against it, delighting in the way Pete
twitched beneath him.

Someday, somehow, I’m going to make sure I die eating this ass.

He dove in, fingers digging tightly into Pete’s skin as he held him open, moaning in near
delirium as he flicked his tongue against the sensitive ring of muscle beneath him. Pete
gasped, and Vegas felt Pete’s fingers rake through his hair to the base of skull, practically
clutching onto him as his palms pressed down to press Vegas closer to his hole. He tried not
to smile in response as he sucked at Pete’s rim, but he couldn’t help himself, Pete hissing as
the smile broke the suction.
He let one thumb brush back and forth against the tender skin near Pete’s rim, before he was
hooking it into Pete and tugging him open, so he could lave his tongue wetly against the
opening, before he was stiffening the muscle to fuck it just barely inside. Above him Pete
was panting, head tossed back, and Vegas realized he was whining soft little yes yes yeses.

He drew back to admire the sight of Pete’s winking hole, gathering the saliva into his mouth
to spit directly against it, thumb rubbing through the wetness as he spread it across Pete’s rim.

“Come on princess, you don’t have to hold back. Want you to feel good. Want you to rub this
sweet little cunt against my face.”

Pete let his head fall to the side as he looked at Vegas in a daze, eyes half open and mascara
gathering in the wetness at the corners. He watched, enraptured as Pete’s tongue darted out to
run slowly over the peach-stained swell of his lower lip, fingers tightened up in Vega’s hair
until the strands pulled against his scalp.

Vegas thought back, just for a moment, to the time he had tightened his fingers into Pete’s
hair until he had felt strands snap as he pushed Pete’s face down into a soup bowl and held
him there. Fair is only fair. It would serve him right if Pete held him down to suffocate him
inside this delicious ass.

Vegas watched, enraptured, as Pete’s lips formed the syllables of his name, but no sound
came out. As if his name was a prayer when Pete clung to when he was lost, overwhelmed in
the haze of pleasure Vegas brought him.

The spell he was under broke when Pete pushed at his scalp, hips shifting slightly as he made
a soft, impatient noise.

Who was Vegas to deny his sweet pet?

He dove back in like a man starved, nipping at Pete’s hole, once, twice, before he was
sucking at the reddened skin in apology. He pushed his thumb further into Pete, spearing him
open so he could fuck his tongue deeper, drink up the sweet taste of Pete right from the
source. Pete mewled above him, hips swirling in slight, shy circles against Vegas’s face and
that wouldn’t do. Vegas wanted Pete to take his pleasure, to use his Daddy to feel good like he
deserved. He dug the nails of his other hand into Pete’s asscheek and pulled him in, guiding
Pete’s hips with gentle pushes to get him to start fucking himself down onto Vegas’s face.

You’re not eating ass right if you’re not risking breaking your nose.

Dragging his index finger up, he slid his thumb out of Pete to spit once more, before he was
slipping his finger in, massaging it slowly into Pete’s walls as his tongue rubbed circles into
Pete’s rim. He let his finger go straight for Pete’s prostate, massaging into it unrelentingly
and delighting in the keen of sheer pleasure Pete let out above him, his hips bucking to try
and both get away from and press into the direct stimulation.

The chain linking Pete’s hands jingled as he let go of Vegas’s hair to throw his hands back
over the chaise and grasp at the fabric, back arching up as his hips pumped against Vegas’s
face desperately. When Vegas looked up, Pete had his eyes squeezed shut tight, his mouth
open as he panted, completely unabashed as he lost himself in his pleasure.

Just like he should be.

Vegas alternated between running his finger across Pete’s prostate in slow, wide, teasing
circles, and quick, rapid, small come-hither motions. His tongue dove in greedily beside his
finger, before pulling out to just lave around Pete’s rim, stimulating the reddened skin with
gentle, massaging pressure. He could focus on stretching Pete open later, for now he just
wanted Pete to enjoy the sensations.

“Wait! Wait wait wait!” Pete suddenly cried above him after a bit, hips never once stopping
as he rode desperately against Vegas’s face, heel digging into his back to pull him tightly in
despite his words. “Wait! Gonna cum- Vegas- Daddy no- no, gonna cum.”

Humming in acknowledgement, Vegas just increased the pressure against Pete’s prostate as
he massaged, his other hand working its way up to grasp Pete’s cock tightly and pump, fast
and hard and Pete’s back bowed.
And then he was cumming, his adorable cock shooting out strings of pearly white across his
skirt to match the collar Vegas had given him. He moaned, loud and wanton, Vegas’s
precious, noisy boy, as he worked himself through the orgasm, riding against Vegas’s face, on
Vegas’s tongue without a care in the world.

He collapsed back against the chaise as Vegas licked him hungrily through it, whining softly
in overstimulation before Vegas was releasing him and drawing back, just admiring the sight
of his happy, blissed out kitten.

Vegas allowed Pete a moment to catch his breath, kissing the inside of the thigh draped
across his shoulder, before he was sitting up, settling himself between Pete’s legs as he
reached up to run his hands over Pete’s skirt, pulling the stained fabric down and smoothing
it across Pete’s skin, fixing it back into place like Pete wasn’t covered in his own cum and
spread out with Vegas between his thighs, hard and throbbing in his pants.

Finally, Pete sighed, eyes still closed from where he had squeezed them shut during his
orgasm, hands slipping down to rest on top of Vegas’s where he was still smoothing idly
across the skirt. Vegas worried, as Pete cracked open his eyes and he saw just how teary they
were, that perhaps post-orgasm, Pete might have begun to spiral.

Instead, he felt his mouth go dry as Pete pouted, fingers tracing slowly along the backs of
Vegas’s hands before he sat up, leaning in to press a sweet kiss to the corner of Vegas’s
mouth.

“Can I have your cock now Daddy?”

 Chapter 11
Chapter Summary

He imagined the hungry look Vegas would have, all for him, if he sauntered into his
office one day, bent over his desk and flipped up his skirt, no panties underneath--
because he was a spoiled, naughty kitten and spoiled, naughty kitten’s don’t need panties
Daddy, --and demanded to get his greedy pussy played with, his hungry tummy fucked
full of Daddy’s cum.

He would make Vegas suckle at his rim, use those slender, beautiful fingers to finger
him until he cried because Vegas was right, puppies could play rough but pretty kitties
had such sensitive little pussies. They needed to be spoiled and treated gently.

Pete needed to be spoiled and treated gently.

He deserved it.

Chapter Notes

My week was straight hell you guys. So I tried to take some comfort in writing this but
please excuse any disjointedness?

I still really appreciate everyone who has stuck out this absolute weird filth I have
produced.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Pete had become intimately familiar with the haze of submission; the fuzzy fluffy cotton that
would settle over his mind as he gave up control for Vegas. It was so comforting, like a warm
blanket cocooning him as he didn’t know which way was up or which way was down but
trusting, knowing, that Vegas would guide him.

But this, this was somehow different. It was a deeper, more powerful feeling of submission. It
was as if Pete had fallen down to some secret place that had always been just out of reach.
Here, he wasn’t Pete. Here, nothing else existed. Here, he was just a silly kitten, his thoughts
didn’t matter. He existed just to be pretty and spoiled for Vegas, to hide away in Vegas’s
arms, safe and treasured.
Pete wanted, and for once, that was okay. It was okay to want and to express the full intensity
of his want. Spoiled pets deserved to want; spoiled pets existed to want and be silly and
whine and beg.

So Pete was unabashed as he ground down onto Vegas, who had moved to settle between
Pete’s spread legs, their positions switched as Vegas reclined back and Pete crawled,
suddenly clumsy, into his lap. He whimpered with sheer delight as he felt Vegas’s cock, bare
and freed from his trousers, rutting up against him, tip teasingly pressing into his rim as
Vegas held his cock steady to prevent it from pressing in.

And that just wasn’t fair. Pete had begged so nicely for it. Pete pressed down, using his body
weight to sink down onto Vegas’s cock. Pain zipped up Pete’s spine, halting him with a sharp
intensity that was oddly unbearable. He heard himself cry out, and his thighs and stomach
clenched as he tried to push through it, tried to force himself down and fight against the
burning sensation that felt like it was shooting straight up his body like a lightning bolt.
Vegas’s hands came to his hips, and he growled as he was forced up, crocodile tears rolling
down his cheeks.

He had lost his virginity with nothing more than Vegas’s spit and the minimal lube that came
with a condom, something Vegas had bent him over his knee for later when he found out. So
why was this suddenly so unbearable?

“Shhh kitten, shhh. Come here, come here baby,” Vegas drew him in, and he let himself fall
into the warmth of his embrace, tucking his face into Vegas’s neck as he felt himself racked
with full body shivers. He felt Vegas’s hands petting down his back, touch warm and
soothing through the thin material of the shirt he had dressed Pete in.

“Puppies can play rough darling, but pretty kitties with their pretty pussies are too sensitive.
We need to get your cunt nice and wet, kitty.”

Oh, of course, that made perfect sense to Pete. He was such a silly kitten; he was so lucky he
had Vegas to guide him, to spoil him. He sniffled into Vegas’s neck, nodding quickly as he
gave in to the temptation to trail, messy, wet kisses across Vegas’s jugular, teeth pressing in
every now and then just to satisfy his own urge to nibble.

Daddy gave him pretty marks; he should return the favor.

He felt Vegas sigh in delight, and he moaned as Vegas’s head tilted back, offering up more of
that delicious skin for him to suckle at and mark.

This is mine.

“Of course it is, sweet thing.”

Losing himself in the sensation of nibbling across Vegas’s neck, he jumped, startled when he
felt fingers, wet and cold, circling the warm skin of his rim. He released the skin he had been
holding tight between his teeth, gasping and canting his hips back, rutting against the fingers
as they teased him. He wasn’t sure where Vegas had gotten lube from, but those were the
types of things silly kittens didn’t need to think about.

“Exactly, darling ,now you’re understanding. Good, precious boy.”

Pete sighed in delight as one finger worked itself in to him, rubbing and massaging all along
his walls. It felt so amazing, but this wasn’t right somehow. He needed something, what did
he need? What was it?

Oh!

Pete surged up, capturing Vegas’s lower lip between his teeth, he sucked until the plush skin
felt swollen, all his and his alone to nibble on. He moaned, loud and unabashed as he drug his
tongue across the uneven ridges of Vegas’s lower teeth, devouring his mouth in a series of
sloppy kisses, only breaking to pant and moan as one finger inside him turned into two and
he was scissored open.

Something in his heart was expanding, gooey and syrupy sweet, pumping through his veins.
He felt like he was floating, he felt like he was high, he felt… powerful. He felt sexy and
divine.
“My special, sweet, kitten. You’re everything.”

Pete tilted his head, forehead resting to Vegas’s as he ground down, eagerly fucking himself
onto Vegas’s fingers. He let his nose brush against Vegas’s, his cuffed hands moving to drape
across Vegas’s shoulders, fisting into the strands of hair at the nape of his neck.

“Do you want to fuck me? Tell me, Daddy, tell me you want me…” he let his lips drag across
Vegas’s, the lipstick long gone, smeared between them.

Wet, squelching sounds filled the air between them as Vegas’s fingers pressed deep into him,
stretching, massaging at his insides. Vegas moaned against his mouth, hips thrusting up to
grind against Pete, the head of his cock rubbing against Pete’s perineum as his fingers spread
him open wide.

“Want to fuck you kitten, of course I do. Want to be inside you always. Sweet boy, little
darling,” Vegas growled, sliding his fingers out of Pete to grasp tightly at his cheeks,
spreading him wide as he thrust his hips up and forward, thrusting himself against Pete’s rim
to start up a teasing grind back and forth.

“Do you feel that, kitten? Feel how much I want you? You gonna let me in baby? Gonna let
me fuck this tight little cunt?”

Pete felt his toes curl, bringing one leg up to wedge his foot behind Vegas’s lower back,
pressing against him to try and force their hips closer together. He smiled against Vegas’s
mouth and felt like his whole being was made up of butterflies, as if he would fly away
without Vegas holding him close, holding him in place. Vegas was looking at him like he was
divine, as if the entire world revolved around him. There was nothing else that existed
beyond them; here, in their little sanctuary, Pete was a beautiful boy, a precious kitten, the
most desired being in the universe.

“It’s your cunt, isn’t it? Please. Please please please, want you. Want you inside, give it to
me,” Pete gasped as Vegas ran his lips up along his jaw, grasping onto that earring and
pulling again, that sharp little zing sending a shock along Pete’s spine. Pete whined, needy
and unashamed as he leaned into the pull, raking his own fingers down Vegas’s back, pulling
him closer. He couldn’t get close enough, nothing would be enough as that pit of longing
entirely consumed him, as he gave in to all of the longing he had ever repressed and let it out.
Nails digging tight into Vegas’s back, he threw himself backward, pulling Vegas down on top
of him and smiling, bright, greedy, full of teeth as he wrapped both legs tight around Vegas’s
waist.

“You think I’m pretty? Tell me I’m pretty. Tell me I’m your pretty boy.” He ground against
Vegas, gasping a soft litany of ah ah ahs as his own cock rubbed up against Vegas’s stomach.

Vegas’s eyes were so soft, so fond as they swept across his face, as if Pete was the most
precious thing he had ever seen. Vegas smiled at him, letting him take his own pleasure and
not chastising him like he normally would for being naughty and humping like a bad puppy.
Pretty kitties didn’t have to worry about those silly rules. Pete wondered if he was pretty
enough to make Vegas cry, to make Vegas beg.

“Of course, you are. I would beg for you, kitten. I would get on my knees for you. I would
give you anything you wanted my pretty boy. Prettiest boy in the world. Do you want me to
beg for you baby? Want Daddy to beg to fuck his pretty kitten?”

Vegas’s fingers grasped Pete’s jaw, turning his head back toward the mirror as he ran his nose
up along Pete’s cheek. Pete gazed into the mirror, his stomach clenching as his hips sped up
eagerly. Vegas looked at him like he was a god, like he had hung each star in the sky.

Pete wasn’t familiar with power. Even with the raw strength he could channel into his
punches, he never knew what it felt like to be powerful. He always knew that he was just a
servant for someone else to call forward, a shadow in the corner awaiting a command from
those who truly held power.

But now, with Vegas’s body crushed close to his, held tight beneath his chained wrists, gazing
at him like he was a universe, he felt like the most powerful being alive.

He laughed, unrestrained, turning his head to nip once, adoringly, at the end of Vegas’s nose
before he was claiming his mouth in a kiss, kitten licking his way into Vegas’s mouth in a
sweet, coy, deceptive play before he was devouring Vegas, the aching pit of want that
consumed him unchecked and eager to take. He let his tongue fuck forward into Vegas’s
mouth, slurping eagerly, messy as he tasted Vegas’s desire on his own tongue.
He let his nails rake down Vegas’s back, fingers digging into muscle and pawing needily as
his hips rocked, taking what he wanted, unashamed, from the body laid atop his.

“Tell me, please tell me I’m pretty,” he whispered sweetly against Vegas’s lips, slowing his
kiss down to a soft suckle against Vegas’s upper lip.

Vegas moaned against his mouth, thrusting forward between the cradle of Pete’s thighs, the
skirt bunched between them and smearing cum across Vegas’s stomach. “Darling, you’re the
prettiest boy alive.”

Back arching up, Pete let his heel run down the back of Vegas’s thigh, hooking a thin ankle
behind Vegas’s knee and trying to force him closer. “Who do I belong to?”

Vegas’s hands were bruising against his waist, fingers digging in tightly before he was
making his way down, massaging across Pete’s hips before grasping an ass cheek in each
hand and squeezing tight. “Me, my sweet, pretty kitten. You’re all mine.”

Pete let Vegas’s lip go with a soft pop, tongue darting out to lap at the swelling bruise he had
left on Vegas’s perfect pout, words falling from his lips in a rush he couldn’t stop, “Are you
mine too, Daddy? Did I get you nice and cunt-drunk and now you’re all mine forever? Say
you love me. Say you love my pretty kitten pussy.”

Vegas hissed against his mouth, pulling back to look at Pete with such wonder in his eyes that
Pete felt his head spin. Pete gazed at Vegas beneath his lashes before arching one eyebrow,
waiting. His heart stuttered in his own chest, fearing for one split moment that maybe he was
wrong, maybe he had crossed a line. Maybe he was too silly of a kitten and gone too far.

But then Vegas was smiling, leaning down to kiss at the center of Pete’s chest where the shirt
was parted, right between the soft swelling muscle of his pecs. Vegas’s hips were thrusting
up, an eager, rapid grind forward as his own hands released Pete long enough to reach down
and grasp his cock, moaning in relief as he slid up against Pete’s rim, pressing just lightly
against him.
“Baby, kitten, of course, of course, I’m yours, kitty. I want you always, want you forever. I
love you so much angel, love you more than anything. I would do anything for you darling,
anything you asked. Love you. Pretty boy, beautiful boy. Love your cute little pussy, perfect
little pussy. Gonna let me in, gorgeous? Are you going to let me inside where I belong?”

Pete mewled as he felt Vegas’s thick cockhead smear against his lube slick rim, rubbing back
and forth with enough pressure to tease but never enter. He could feel his own thighs
trembling with want as he caged Vegas between them, knees digging into Vegas’s waist.
Vegas’s lips brushed up against his ear, nibbling at the sensitive skin of his earlobe, and when
he spoke, soft and desperate as his dick, hot, heavy, and wet gave a wanting twitch as it
caught on Pete’s rim, Pete felt like his whole being had burned up- as if he had immolated
and became nothing but desire.

“Please, kitten. Please my beautiful, adorable Pete. Please please, I’ll do anything for you. I’ll
give you everything. Let me fuck you. Please, lovely boy, let Daddy fuck his sweet kitten’s
pussy. Was so good to my pretty boy… ate you out so nice and wet and messy to get you
ready for my cock, darling. Let me have you now, yeah kitten? Gonna let Daddy have you?
Please.”

Vegas pressed a kiss to Pete’s ear again, a soft, gentle smooch, before he nudged against
Pete’s cheek with his nose to get it to turn. His hair fell into his eyes, boyish and handsome,
and he smiled that wicked smile before he leaned in to press a kiss to the tip of Pete’s nose.
Pete laughed, tilting his head back to kiss the tip of Vegas’s in return.

“Please… please have me.”

Pete’s legs tightened around Vegas’s waist, heels pressing into the backs of his thighs to guide
Vegas’s hips closer to him. He felt Vega’s breath as he exhaled a moan, his own mouth falling
open as Vegas thrust forward and into him so easily, sliding into him like he was coming
home. Pete felt something inside of him settle, the aching desperation that always consumed
him easing up as they joined together. He dugs his nails into Vegas’s skin, moaning loud and
unashamed.

“Like that, come on Daddy, right where you need to be. Always want you in me.”
They fucked often, across every surface of their home, in cars, on bar tables, on Kinn’s desk,
in the ocean waves that kissed the shores of Pete’s island, in an airplane, once on a roulette
table, once in a coffin and that had been weirdly pleasurable. Vegas had taken him in nearly
every position, from behind, from the side, once even upside down.

But Pete’s favorite place was tucked away in their home, in the room that was all theirs, with
Vegas cradled safe in his bound arms, his heartbeat thrumming away against Pete’s as they
came together, panting into one another’s mouths, eyes locked on one another’s faces, just
like they had been their first time.

They fucked a lot of ways, but Pete’s favorite was the deep, slow thrusting that Vegas was
giving him now, pulling out nearly all the way, centimeter by agonizing centimeter, until Pete
was keening high in the back of his throat, then thrusting forward full force, the weight of his
body driving Pete’s back, hips slapping forward with enough force to bruise. Pete sighed in
sheer delight as he arched his back, his head a warm, fuzzy place full of cotton and love,
burning him from tip to toe.

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me. You love me? You love me, Daddy? Show me, show me how
much. Want you always here. Want your cock so much, wish I could keep you here forever.”
Pete clenched down as Vegas thrust into him, squeezing him tight and delighting in the hiss
of pleasure that ripped through Vegas. He giggled, hysterical, as he tilted his head to steal a
quick, chaste kiss from Vegas’s mouth.

“Oh fuck,” Vegas grunted through clenched teeth, sweat beading along his brow as he slid
one arm beneath Pete’s leg, lifting it up to drape over his elbow and get a deeper angle,
driving forward into Pete as his eyes flicked from Pete’s face, his pearls, his tiny cock
bouncing with each thrust, framed by lace and coquettishly half-veiled by his dirtied skirt, as
if he couldn’t decide what view was best. “Kitten, love you. Fuck, Pete, fuck.”

His teeth were biting into his own lower lip, his smart mouth unusually silent, and Pete
watched, enthralled, as the muscles of Vegas’s ass flexed in the mirror with every thrust. With
one knee braced against the chaise and the other foot on the floor for leverage, Pete could see
the sway of Vegas’s balls, heavy against his own ass cheeks with each thrust forward, and he
could just barely see the glistening pink skin of his rim, speared open and molded to Vegas’s
cock, the only one he had ever or would ever take. All for Vegas and Vegas alone.
Pete had a dizzying thought to ask for more mirrors in the dressing room. Maybe one above
their bed, so he could watch Vegas use his body to make a home for himself every time.

“Feel so good, so so good,” Pete panted as he ground his hips down hard, an endless teasing
circle as he tried to get Vegas as close and deep as possible. He let himself whine, high and
reedy as his fingers trembled against Vegas’s skin, “need you, Daddy. Please, please, please
kitty needs you.”

He felt delirious with want, with the desire to trap Vegas between his legs and keep him there
forever. His heart hammered away in his chest as he imagined, for a brief, beautiful moment,
what it might be like to flip Vegas over and pin him beneath his thighs. He imagined what it
might be like to sink down on that beautiful, hard cock, all for him, and take his own
pleasure, to ride Vegas hard until he was satisfied, use him like a beautiful, spoiled kitten
would, like a cherished little prized pet. He panted, head thrown back as he watched Vegas
through his eyelashes as he imagined the hungry look Vegas would have, all for him, if he
sauntered into his office one day, bent over his desk and flipped up his skirt, no panties
underneath because he was a spoiled, naughty kitten and spoiled, naughty kitten’s don’t need
panties Daddy, and demanded to get his greedy pussy played with, his hungry tummy fucked
full of Daddy’s cum. He would make Vegas suckle at his rim, use those slender, beautiful
fingers to finger him until he cried because Vegas was right, puppies could play rough but
pretty kitties had such sensitive little pussies. They needed to be spoiled and treated gently.
Pete needed to be spoiled and treated gently.

Vegas chose him. Out of everyone else in this world, Vegas had looked at Pete, a stray on the
street, starving and abandoned, and seen a precious, prized pet. If Vegas saw him for that,
then who was he to act any other way?

“Love your cock. It’s mine. It’s only mine. Want it all the time. Want it in my mouth, want it
in my cunt. All mine, Vegas, belongs to me.” Pete was gasping, tears streaking down his face
when had he started crying again? He felt overwhelmed, blistered alive by the warmth of
Vegas’s love and the blinding heat of his own desire. Each thrust forward was rocking him
against the soothing velvet of the chaise, the pearls around his neck clinking in time with the
sound of skin slapping against skin. He could feel Vegas’s cock twitch inside of him, and he
watched, enthralled as the lean muscles of Vegas’s stomach rippled as his thrusts picked up,
just a bit, in speed.

“It’s yours kitten, precious, beautiful boy. All yours. You want it? Want me to use this cock to
make you cum, good boy? You gonna cum just from my cock, baby? Or do you need Daddy
to rub your cute clit, hmm? No wrong answers, sweet kitten. Whatever you want, I’ll give it
to you. Just ask.”

Pete wondered, if he asked to chain Vegas to the bed. To bolt up the doors and never let
anyone else ever see the two of them again. To climb on Vegas’s cock and ride him until they
both wasted away, fucked one another to death, if he would let him.

Instead, he just drew Vegas closer, hands moving to tangle into Vegas’s hair so he could pull
him in to kiss sloppily, messy and wet, against Vegas’s mouth.

“-’m a good boy. You make me feel so good. Just need your cock, Daddy that’s all. Just a
little more.”

Vegas was panting into his mouth as he shifted his hips, angling himself so that on each thrust
in he could pick up a steady grind against Pete’s prostate that had Pete’s toes curling nearly
painfully. Pete could tell Vegas was setting his own pleasure aside, tamping down on the
desire to fuck and fuck hard and greedy, to chase his own release as he focused on Pete.

“You’re the best boy. My perfect princess.”

Pete gasped out as Vegas thrust forward hard against him, their bodies aligning together, two
jagged pieces forming a beautifully broken whole, and he was cumming, his whole being
fizzling into nothing but pleasure in Vegas’s arms. His muscles went tight, his spine arching
as he offered his body up for Vegas to fuck into, to drive against his prostate and push him
through the waves of his own orgasm, to tighten and clench down on Vegas and pull him
along as well.

Vegas moaned into his mouth, breathless and wanton as his hips snapped forward, his hands
coming down to grip onto Pete’s ass, fingers digging into the meat as he pulled Pete down
hard into his thrust, once, twice, and then he was pressing deep, so deeply Pete imagined he
could feel him all the way to his throat and spilling into the warmth of Pete’s body.

Pete clenched down hard, desperate to keep Vegas within him, to keep Vegas and his cum all
to himself. He pulled hard on Vegas’s hair, tilting his head back so that he could lean in to
nibble softly along Vegas’s jaw as Vegas thrust forward, riding out his orgasm with a soft
litany of curses. This man was his.

This man, dark and broken, depraved and starving, loving and silly, was all his. This man,
who slicked back his hair and hid knives in his heeled boots, who smiled beautifully as he
carved out entrails, who was covered in a map of scars from a life of decay and rot and hate,
who had fought his way back from the brink of death just because Pete had begged that he
was hungry.

This man, whose unstyled hair fell into his eyes and tickled him as he spent hours cooking
Pete’s favorites, knuckles burned from the heat of a high flame; who wore a fluffy rabbit ear
headband Macau had gifted him as a joke when he washed his face; who wore oversized
reading glasses; who woke up twice a night, every night, and kissed Pete on the forehead then
crept down the hallway to walk into his brother’s room, pull up the blankets Macau had
kicked off restlessly, tuck him back in, and finally return to bed, only able to sleep again
when he was satisfied the family he had gathered was safe.

This man, everything he was, was all his.

Vegas panted quietly against Pete’s cheek, kissing away a few errant tears, and Pete turned
his head, gazing into Vegas’s eyes adoringly, before he smiled, impish and dangerous.

“If I keep your cum inside long enough Daddy, do you think we can have kittens?”

Vegas, for once, turned positively red, narrow eyes rounding comically as Pete caught him
entirely off guard, and Pete threw his head back and laughed.
Later, after a long, hot shower, they crawled under the covers together in what Pete had once
described as a “ridiculous, rich-people sized bed” but had long ago stopped complaining
about when Vegas had shown him how he had had it custom made to fit some interesting and
very useful suspension attachments. Vegas fluffed up their pillows, and Pete smoothed out all
of their blankets as they readied to settle in together for some cuddles.

Vegas knew many people probably looked at him and assumed he wasn’t a cuddler. He at
least hoped that he had created a persona that led to that assumption. If anything, people
probably thought he was exclusively the big spoon.

The truth of the matter was that he found himself unable to sleep without at least some part of
his body touching Pete’s. Ninety percent of the time, they would lie facing one another
somehow, legs entangled together, arms cradling one another close, unable to turn away for a
moment for fear the other would be taken. Vegas preferred this position to anything else,
really, because when he awoke in a panic from a trauma-induced nightmare, he got to see
Pete’s adorable, marshmallow cheek smushed against his own shoulder or the pillow, and the
world would feel right again.

As for the other ten percent of the time, two percent Pete was the little spoon, when he was
sick or had had a bad dream, and Vegas cherished that time for the security he felt knowing
Pete was safely wrapped up in his arms, his body a perfect shield for anything that could
come for the one thing he loved most in the world.

The other eight percent, Vegas had to admit he enjoyed how secure he felt when he had a bad
day, had worked himself into a nasty, snarling mood reminiscent of the shadow of a person he
had been before, when he was afraid and thought he had to lash out, at anyone, at himself,
and Pete would fix him with an unimpressed look and wrestle him bodily to the bed, pinning
him down and trapping him within the warm, safe circle of his arms, keeping him grounded,
showing him he was loved.

Today, Vegas anticipated that Pete might feel a bit like a giant bruise. Their play had been
gentle and sweet, but Vegas knew that even though Pete had fallen beautifully into the
warmth of his love, that his issues with his self-esteem weren’t suddenly fixed. Vegas knew
that Pete might wake up tomorrow, spiraling and choking on shame, might throw away every
lipstick, might gather up the pieces of the mask Vegas had carefully chipped away and sob as
he tried to glue it back into place.
 That was okay.

For now, Vegas would gather Pete up into his arms, and wait to see what would come.
Whatever came, he would weather the storm, he would keep pushing Pete toward a better
tomorrow, where they could chase away each other’s shadows and learn just to be together.

Whatever they wanted to be. The world they created together was theirs.

Vegas scooted upward, wrapping his arms around Pete as he cradled Pete’s head to his chest,
a leg draping across Pete’s hip as he pulled his love against him.

His baby. His puppy, His kitten.

His world.

He smiled when Pete smiled, tilting his head down to press a kiss to a dimple, and looked
forward to whatever version of Pete tomorrow would bring.

Chapter End Notes

The story is over, but I will have an epilogue as I mentioned.

And...bonus chapters? Any requests?

 Chapter 12
Chapter Summary

Their eyes met as Pete uncapped the tube, twisting it up to reveal a rosy red. Vegas
forgot how to breathe for a moment as Pete brought the tube to his mouth, eyes never
leaving Vegas’s as he applied It with wonderful, practiced ease. He recapped the tube
when he was done, and with steady hands reached out to grasp Vegas’s cheeks between
his warm palms, drawing him in and placing a lingering kiss to the sore spot of Vegas’s
forehead where Macau had collided with him.

Pete pulled away after Macau made a gagging noise to the side, and Vegas blinked up at
him, dazed and oddly turned on as Pete adjusted the jacket around his shoulders,
slipping the tube back into the inside pocket.

Chapter Notes

I snuck out of work a wee bit early because all I could think about today was wrapping
up this story, so that I could move on to whats next.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Vegas used to hate returning home. He used to dread walking thought he front door to his
father’s wrath and would spend as long as possible at his bike, making up excuses before he
had to walk in and face his reality.

Now, he loved to rush home, couldn’t wait to finish whatever task he had that day and get
back early, get his hands on his pet as quickly as possible.

Pete didn’t greet him at the door usually. One because Pete never really knew when to expect
him, two because Pete was his own person and had things of his own to take care of.

But Vegas found he actually preferred it that way. He loved to sneak through the house and
try to find his pet, catch him unaware and observe him as he did the most idle, mundane
things. There was something so comforting about watching Pete reading reports, trying to
scrub cum stains out of their laundry before the cleaning aunties could gather it, or brewing
tea.

Today, when he snuck into the living room, following the sound of Pete’s soft, low humming,
some Southern Thai song Vegas didn’t recognize, Pete’s head didn’t lift and turn from
whatever it was bowed over as he sat on the couch. But Pete somehow knew he was there all
the same, his humming stopping the moment Vegas’s foot crossed the threshold of the room.

“Try to be quiet. He’s asleep.”

Vegas gave a soft hum of acknowledgment as he crept up behind Pete, bending down as he
came up behind the couch to press a kiss to the top of Pete’s head and take in the sight before
him.

Pete had taken recently to exploring the plethora of fashion choices Vegas had filled their
closet with around their home. He let Vegas dress him on days that he had to go out and
would often kick up a fuss for things too far out of his comfort zone. But in the home, he had
made a bit of slow, steady progress in what he wore outside the bedroom.

What he wore inside the bedroom was an even better story. Vegas hoped that some things
would always stay a perfect little secret for him.

Like the little red lace bralette that flashed hints of dusky brown nipples through hand woven
flowers.

Today, however, Pete’s long legs were enveloped in flowing, black slacks, the loose fabric
giving a teasing, flirty hint at a skirt as the fabric swayed and swished in its overlap. His top
was a soft, pink knit sweater, and Vegas could tell from the glimpses he could steal between
the knitted fabric that Pete was bare beneath. His own leather jacket was draped across Pete’s
shoulders, a common sight as Pete complained incessantly about the preferred temperature
Vegas kept the home at, forever a southern, island boy unused to powerful air conditioning.
Pete’s neck was draped in pearls, and when he tilted his head to gaze up at Vegas, he could
see the swing of his pearl drop earrings nestled in the curling ends of his tousled hair.
Oh. Kitty’s here.

Vegas felt his mouth go dry as his eyes flicked to Pete’s lips, the light catching and
glimmering on the barely there, almost hidden shimmer of a petal pink kiss. Pete had been
bolder recently, wearing muted shades around and out of the house so that everyone can see
what belongs to you, Vegas.

“Don’t get ideas.” Pete rolled his eyes, but he was clearly fighting a smile as he turned back
to what was in his lap.

Oh fuck, Macau was there.

His brother was sprawled out on the couch, his head nestled in Pete’s lap, cheek smushed
against Pete’s thighs as he slept. One of Pete’s hands was brushing through his hair, pushing
it out of his face as the other hand rubbed at his back idly. Macau looked so young, his face
relaxed in a way that reminded Vegas of the baby he had once held in his arms, instead of the
smirking, devilish, terror Macau was when he was awake.

“He had a bad day.” Pete explained as Vegas draped himself over his boyfriend, arms sliding
down Pete’s chest as he let his chin rest on Pete’s shoulder. “I couldn’t really help much.
Something about being berated in class for answering a question wrong? Which is stupid.
Isn’t the point of a question to learn? How is he supposed to just know the answers? Then he
said the robot he built for his class project was supposed to deliver flowers to Chay at lunch.
But apparently it shorted out and caught fire? Triggered the sprinkler system. Did you know
the water in those things is pretty gross? I made him shower immediately when he came
home. He was dripping brown sludge everywhere.”

Pete huffed out a soft laugh, twirling the ends of Macau’s hair between his fingers idly.

“Why he chose robotic engineering is beyond me. But I guess no matter what major he
picked, I would be too stupid to help with anyway.”

Vegas felt his teeth clench on instinct, and before he could stop it his hand was yanking at the
back of Pete’s hair and he was standing, snarling down at Pete. Pete’s eyes were wide with
confusion, as if he hadn’t even realized what he said, before they softened slightly in shame.

“Rephrase it.”

Pete sighed, put out by Vegas’s staunch refusal to allow him to speak poorly about himself,
but then his tongue was flicking out to wet at his lower lip and his hands were stilling in his
petting.

“I don’t know how. It’s the truth. Vegas, you know that one is at least.” He was whispering
then, his eyes flicking up to meet Vegas’s, contrite.

“No, kitten,” Vegas tightened his grip in Pete’s hair, then loosened it to pet the strands he had
mussed back into place. He let himself lower, pressing a sweet kiss to the center of Pete’s
forehead. “You’re not stupid. Let me help you. You wouldn’t be able to help with most
majors because you didn’t get to go to college and aren’t familiar with the work he would do.
You’re smart in so many ways; taught yourself so many things all on your own. If he had
picked English lit you would be a great Shakespeare tutor, yeah?”

Pete snorted in amusement, rolling his eyes as he resumed petting Macau, the hand not in
Macau’s hair moving to thumb away some drool before it could fall onto his pants. He didn’t
agree, but he didn’t argue, and that was progress.

Vegas slid back into his original position, watching as his brother sleepily curled into Pete,
pressing his face into Pete’s sweater covered stomach, seeking out a comforting touch he had
hardly ever gotten to know because their mother had died when he was so young, and their
father had beaten them both any time he saw them give one another more than a passing
shoulder squeeze. Vegas watched the corner of Pete’s lips curl up, and he resumed his
humming, his free hand making its way back to Macau’s back to resume his gentle stroking.

If Macau knew anyone saw him like this, being cradled on Pete’s lap and soothed like a small
child with lullabies and back rubs, he would lose his absolute shit. Vegas had to take a video.

Obviously not to blackmail Macau with, though it would come in handy if Vegas ever needed
such, but because the sight made Vegas’s heart swell in a way that almost made him feel
suffocated. The love of his life, his sweet, beautiful, Pete, was giving his younger brother
something Vegas had prayed for.

Vegas could remember a time when they were small, and he had grasped Macau’s tiny hand
in his, bone-crushingly tight, and covered his sobbing mouth with his hand as they squeezed
together in a coat closet, trying to stifle Macau’s cries as they hid from the monsters in the
closet, feeling safer in the dark than they ever felt in the light. He remembered the smell of
piss, Macau sobbing in fright, the warm liquid soaking from Macau’s pants into his and
turning cold as they stood, pressed together all night. He remembered the rashes on Macau’s
chubby toddler thighs the next day from the chafing caused by his wet pants. He remembered
holding his brother’s exhausted body in his own tiny arms and wishing with his whole heart
that someone would take Macau away and give him better.

Now, his brother was a first-year in college, and for once he was getting doted upon in a way
he should have always been spoiled as the second son, the baby brother.

Vegas tried to keep his hand from shaking as he filmed the absolute peace on Macau’s
sleeping face, the way Pete’s long fingers brushed and played through his hair, occasionally
running across his cheek, tracing his nose, smoothing out the worried line between his
eyebrows as he dreamed. Something hot welled up within Vegas, and it took him a long
moment to realize, as it crept its way up his stomach, expanded into his lungs, wrapped its
tendrils around his heart, that it was want.

He turned his head to observe Pete’s profile from up close, his beautiful, straight lashes, his
perfect, snub nose. He tilted his head and tried to picture what some weird combination of
them might be like. Would it have his spoiled, pouty mouth? Pete’s cute, cupid’s bow? Would
it be a cute, sweet little thing, with a button nose and his own, wary eyes, timid as it hid
behind Pete’s legs, as it looked up at him shyly at bedtime, pressing a picture book into his
hands for just one more story please? Or would it have Pete’s bright, expressive eyes and his
bad attitude, haughty and spoiled as it stomped its little foot and demanded to have its thick
hair brushed and braided just like a princess for the tea party or you won’t be invited papa-

“Hey, Pete,” Vegas finally spoke, leaning in to nudge his nose slightly against Pete’s cheek
when Pete didn’t stop gazing at Macau and humming softly. Pete huffed, rolling his eyes
slightly and mumbling about how spoiled boys can’t stand to share my attention for one
moment in Southern Thai, lessons with yaai had really been paying off, before turning to face
Vegas, going a bit cross-eyed with how close their faces were.
“Yes? Khun Vegas?” Pete drawled mockingly, fluttering his eyelashes to show Vegas had his
full attention. Vegas was distracted for a moment, as he caught just the bare hint of shimmer
in Pete’s lipstick, glinting in the light as Pete’s lips moved. He leaned in to steal a quick kiss,
just one, unable to help himself. He was going to draw away, he swore, but then he tasted the
flavor of peaches against his lips, and he deepened the kiss to let his tongue lap the flavor
straight from the source, one hand going to grasp tight at the back of Pete’s neck, pearls
clutched between his fingers to put the tiniest bit of pressure to Pete’s windpipe.

“I love being Daddy, kitten. How would you feel about being mommy?”

Vegas tightened his grip as Pete tried to jolt back, his lips moving to run up along Pete’s
jawline, pressing to the shell of his ear as laughed, soft and teasing.

“What’s wrong, kitten? Does thinking about Daddy breeding your cute pussy make you shy?”

“Vegas!” Pete hissed, trying to turn his head away as his face burned bright, cherry red. “Stop
being---being like that when your brother is on my lap!”

They both froze as Macau stretched out sleepily and snuffled, his arms moving to wrap tight
around Pete’s waist in an effort to get his pillow to hold still. Vegas knew from experience
Macau slept like the dead, but that didn’t stop his heart from pounding for a few tense
moments as they both watched his brother.

Pete finally scoffed, reaching up with one hand to pry Vegas’s grip from the back of his neck,
turning his head to avoid the kiss he knew was coming the moment Macau settled.

“Go start dinner. I’m starving. Macau didn’t have lunch because of the fire so he’s probably
hungry too. And make sure you make your herbal tea and drink it this time. I know you didn’t
drink it last night and you know it’s good for your body.”

A smile bloomed across Vegas’s face as he was ordered around by such a cute, petulant
kitten, and he allowed himself to give an exaggerated groan, draping his full body weight
against Pete’s upper back, letting his head fall to rest against the swell of Pete’s pec beneath
the soft yarn of his sweater. Vegas debated the merits of sinking his teeth into the muscle as
opposed to the con of the yarn he was sure to get stuck in his teeth, and ultimately decided
against it.

“You’re right. I didn’t drink it. What a fool I was Pete, I can feel my life force draining. My
love, my stars, please, carry me. I don’t have any energy left to make it to the kitchen. How
will I ever provide for you?”

“Mm, that’s a shame,” Pete sighed, turning his head back to look at Vegas, still pretty even
upside down, “if you don’t have any energy to feed me, then I won’t have any energy either.”

Pete leaned forward, his lips brushing, just barely against Vegas’s as his voice dropped to a
whisper.

“And if neither of us have any energy, how are we supposed to make kittens?”

“Oh, GROSS!” Vegas saw stars as Macau bolted up right and their foreheads collided, both
collapsing and cursing from the impact. Vegas slumped off of Pete, draping himself across
the couch as he rubbed at his forehead incessantly, Macau falling back onto Pete’s lap as Pete
threw his head back and howled with laughter.

“Hia! Stop defiling Pete while I’m getting cuddles!”

“Defiling Pete? He’s the one that said that not me!”

“But I know that you started it! Hia you always start with the gross shit when I’m around!
Have some decency, our therapy bills are high enough as it and I don’t need anymore weird
drea—”

Macau whined as Pete pushed him up from his lap and stood, whipping around and shifting
from scowling, angry brat, to whining, innocent child so fast that Vegas wondered whether
the impact of their foreheads knocking together had given him a concussion. Macau’s hands
shot out, grasping onto the end of Pete’s sweater as his eyes widened.
“P’Pete don’t go—Hia’s gross not you, I swear. You said we could watch a movie together
when I woke up.”

Macau’s voice trailed off for a moment, and Vegas saw the way his fingers trembled lightly
as he grasped onto Pete. The pain in his head was forgotten as he reached out, letting his hand
fall onto Macau’s shoulder as he squeezed tightly.

“You promised.” Macau finally finished, eyes flicking down to the floor as his hands released
Pete’s sweater as though he had been burned.

Pete simply smiled, turning to take Macau’s cheeks in his hands, leaning in to press a soft
kiss right between his eyebrows.

“I’m just going to get the take-out menu and make Vegas’s herbal tea, ‘cau. Clearly Vegas has
no brain cells left to make us dinner today. Pick a movie for us while I’m gone.”

Macau’s face split with a large grin as he dove for the remote, a shimmering, barely there hint
of a kiss against his forehead. Vegas scoffed, his insides twisting up for a moment before his
mouth ran dry as Pete turned to him, pulling a shining, golden tube from the inside pocket of
Vegas’s own leather jacket.

Their eyes met as Pete uncapped the tube, twisting it up to reveal a rosy red. Vegas forgot
how to breathe for a moment as Pete brought the tube to his mouth, eyes never leaving
Vegas’s as he applied It with wonderful, practiced ease. He recapped the tube when he was
done, and with steady hands reached out to grasp Vegas’s cheeks between his warm palms,
drawing him in and placing a lingering kiss to the sore spot of Vegas’s forehead where Macau
had collided with him.

Pete pulled away after Macau made a gagging noise to the side, and Vegas blinked up at him,
dazed and oddly turned on as Pete adjusted the jacket around his shoulders, slipping the tube
back into the inside pocket.
 “Had to kiss my boys better. Go change out of your outside clothes so you can be
comfortable while you watch the movie. And bring a blanket. It’s like Iceland in here. City
boys always freezing me I swear.”

Pete turned on his heel to leave the room, and Vegas felt the pull in his chest as his heart went
with him.

Chapter End Notes

Aaaaand there's the epilogue. In case y'all didn't notice. This has suddenly become part
of the series. I want to take the time to thank each and every person who read this story,
each and every person who commented or left kudos, and each and every person who
gave me encouragement.

I haven't written in years, and this turned from something I was doing for my own
entertainment and thought I would abandon halfway through to something i'm getting so
much joy out of. And that's all because of all of you.

I've seen some of the requests y'all had for bonus chapters. Please feel free to leave even
more! The next part of the series will be dedicated to those ideas as a thank you, and
also because y'all had some pretty damn good ideas!

(That being said, idk if the next part of the series will be "canon" to this story if you will.
in the sense i'm down to get wild if y'all are)
Please drop by the Archive and comment to let the creator know if you enjoyed their work!